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THE  AMERICANS 


THE 


AMERICANS 


BY 
HUGO    MUNSTERBERG 

PROFESSOR    OF    PSYCHOLOGY 
AT     HARVARD     UNIVERSITY 


TRANSLATED    BY 

EDWIN    B.    HOLT,    PH.D. 

INSTRUCTOR    AT    HARVARD    UNIVERSITY 


NEW    YORK 
McCLURE,    PHILLIPS    &    CO. 

MCMV 


Copyright,  1904,  by 

McCLURE,  PHILLIPS  &   CO. 

Published  November,  1904,  N 


Third  Impression 


PREFACE 


PREFACE 

IN  the  Preface  to  my  "American  Traits,"  in  which  I  defended 
German  ideals  and  criticised  some  American  tendencies,  I  said, 
some  years  ago:  "It  has  been  often  questioned  whether  I  am 
right  in  righting  merely  against  American  shortcomings  from  a  Ger- 
man point  of  view,  and  in  trying  to  destroy  prejudices  on  this  side 
of  the  water;  whether  it  is  not,  in  a  still  higher  degree,  my  duty  to 
attempt  the  same  for  the  other  side;  —  for  German  prejudices  con- 
cerning the  United  States  are  certainly  not  less  severe,  and  the 
points  in  which  Germany  might  learn  from  American  culture  not 
less  numerous.  The  question  is  fair,  and  I  shall  soon  put  before 
the  German  public  a  book  on  American  life  —  a  book  which  deals 
in  a  detailed  way  with  the  political,  economic,  intellectual,  and 
social  aspects  of  American  culture.  Its  purpose  is  to  interpret 
systematically  the  democratic  ideals  of  America." 

Here  is  the  book;  it  fulfils  the  promise,  and  it  might  appear  that 
no  further  explanation  is  needed.  And  yet,  in  sending  a  book  into 
the  world,  I  have  never  felt  more  strongly  the  need  of  prefatory 
excuses  —  excuses  not  for  writing  the  book,  but  for  agreeing  to  its 
translation  into  English. 

To  outline  American  life  for  readers  beyond  the  sea  is  one 
thing ;  to  appear  before  an  American  audience  and  to  tell  them 
solemnly  that  there  is  a  Republican  and  a  Democratic  party,  and 
that  there  are  troubles  between  capital  and  labour,  is  quite  another 
thing.  To  inform  my  German  countrymen  about  America  may 
be  to  fill  a  long-felt  want;  but,  as  a  German,  to  inform  the  Ameri- 
cans on  matters  which  they  knew  before  they  were  born  seems, 
indeed,  worse  than  superfluous. 


VIM  PREFACE 

When  I  was  urged,  on  so  many  sides,  to  bring  my  "Americans" 
before  the  Americans,  it  was,  therefore,  clear  to  me  from  the  outset 
that  I  ought  not  to  do  it  myself  under  any  circumstances.  If  I  had 
translated  the  book  myself,  it  would  have  become  simply  an  Eng- 
lish book,  written  in  English  by  the  author  ;  and  yet  its  only  pos- 
sible right  to  existence  must  lie  in  its  reflected  character,  in  its  hav- 
ing been  written  for  others,  in  its  coming  back  to  the  New  World 
from  the  Old.  My  friend,  Dr.  Holt,  who  has  been  for  years  my 
assistant  in  the  Harvard  Psychological  Laboratory,  has  assisted, 
therefore,  in  this  social  psychological  experiment,  and  translated 
the  book  from  the  German  edition. 

I  have  been  still  more  influenced  by  another  consideration.  If 
the  book  were  chiefly  a  record  of  facts,  it  would  be  folly  for  a  for- 
eigner to  present  it  to  the  citizens;  but  the  aim  of  the  book  is  a  quite 
different  one.  To  make  a  real  scientific  study  of  the  facts,  I  should 
have  felt  utterly  incompetent;  indeed,  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
any  one  could  hope  to  master  the  material  of  the  various  fields:  a 
division  of  labour  would  then  become  necessary.  The  historian, 
the  politician,  the  economist,  the  jurist,  the  engineer,  and  many 
others  would  have  to  co-operate  in  a  scholarly  investigation  of 
American  events;  and  I  have  no  right  to  any  of  these  titles.  I  am 
merely  a  psychologist,  and  have  not  set  out  to  discover  new  ma- 
terial. The  only  aim  of  the  book  is  to  study  the  American  man 
and  his  inner  tendencies;  and,  perhaps,  a  truer  name  for  my  book 
would  have  been  "The  Philosophy  of  Americanism."  For  such  a 
task  the  outsider  may  be,  after  all,  not  quite  unsuited,  since  the 
characteristic  forces  make  themselves  more  easily  felt  by  him 
than  by  those  who  have  breathed  the  atmosphere  from  their  child- 
hood. I  am,  therefore,  anxious  to  insist  that  the  accent  of  the 
book  lies  on  the  four  chapters,  "Spirit  of  Self-Direction," 
"Spirit  of  Self-Realization,"  "Spirit  of  Self-Perfection,"  and 
"Spirit  of  Self-Assertion";  while  those  chapters  on  the  economic 
and  political  problems  are  the  least  important  of  the  book,  as  they 


PREFACE  i* 

are  meant  merely  by  way  of  illustration.  The  lasting  forces  and 
tendencies  of  American  life  are  my  topics,  and  not  the  problems 
of  the  day.  For  this  reason  the  book  is  translated  as  it  appeared 
six  months  ago  in  Germany,  and  the  events  and  statistical  figures 
of  the  last  few  months  have  not  been  added;  the  Philosophy  of 
Americanism  is  independent  of  the  happenings  of  yesterday.  The 
only  changes  in  the  translation  are  abbreviations;  for  instance,  the 
industrial  tables,  which  every  American  can  get  easily  from  the 
government  reports,  are  abridged;  and,  above  all,  the  chapters 
which  deal  with  the  German-Americans  are  left  out,  as  better 
remaining  an  esoteric  discussion  for  the  Germans. 

The  purpose  of  finding  the  deeper  impulses  in  American  life 
necessarily  demands  a  certain  ignoring  of  the  shortcomings  of  the 
hour.  If  we  aim  to  work  out  and  to  make  clear  the  essentials  of 
the  American  mission  in  the  world,  we  cannot  take  the  attitude  of 
the  reformer,  whose  attention  belongs,  first  of  all,  to  the  blunders 
and  frailties  of  the  hour;  they  are  to  us  less  important  by-prod- 
ucts. The  grumbler  in  public  life  sees  in  such  a  view  of  the  Ameri- 
can, of  course,  merely  a  fancy  picture  of  an  imaginary  creature; 
he  is  not  aware  that  every  portrayal  involves  abstraction,  and  that 
a  study  in  Americanism  means,  indeed,  a  study  of  the  Americans 
as  the  best  of  them  are,  and  as  the  others  should  wish  to  be. 

But  the  optimism  of  my  book  has  still  another  source.  Its  out- 
spoken purpose  has  been  to  awaken  a  better  understanding  of 
Americans  in  the  German  nation.  Whoever  fights  against  preju- 
dices can  serve  the  truth  merely  in  emphasizing  the  neglected 
good  sides,  and  in  somewhat  retouching  in  the  picture  the  exag- 
gerated shadows.  But  just  here  arises  my  strong  reluctance.  The 
optimism  and  the  style  of  a  defender  were  sincere,  and  necessary  to 
the  book  when  it  addressed  itself  to  the  Germans;  is  it  necessary, 
is  it,  indeed,  sincere,  to  place  such  a  eulogy  of  Americanism  be- 
fore the  Americans  ?  I  know  too  well  that,  besides  the  self-direc- 
tion, self-realization,  self-perfection,  and  self-assertion  there  is, 


x  PREFACE 

more  vivid  still,  the  spirit  of  self-satisfaction,  whose  story  I  have 
forgotten  to  include  in  this  volume.  Have  I  the  right  to  cater  to 
this  spirit? 

But  is  it  not  best  that  the  moods  of  criticism  and  optimism  alter- 
nate ?  The  critical  eagerness  of  the  reformer  which  attacks  the 
faults  and  follies  of  the  day  is  most  necessary;  but  it  turns  into  dis- 
couraging pessimism  if  it  is  not  supplemented  by  a  profession  of 
faith  in  the  lasting  principles  and  deeper  tendencies.  The  r&le 
of  the  critic  I  have  played,  perhaps,  more  often  and  more  vehe- 
mently than  is  the  foreigner's  right.  My  book  on  "American 
Traits  "  has  been  its  sharpest  expression.  Does  that  not  give  me, 
after  all,  a  moral  right  to  supplement  the  warning  cry  by  a  joyful 
word  on  the  high  aims  of  true  Americanism  ?  My  duty  is  only  to 
emphasize  that  I  am  myself  fully  aware  of  the  strong  one-sidedness, 
and  that  this  new  book  is  not  in  the  least  meant  to  retract  the  criti- 
cisms of  my  "American  Traits. "  The  two  books  are  meant  to  be 
like  the  two  pictures  of  a  stereoscope,  which  must  be  seen  both 
together  to  get  the  full  plastic  effect  of  reality.  It  is  certainly  im- 
portant to  remind  the  nation  frequently  that  there  are  political 
corruption  and  pedagogical  blundering  in  the  world;  but  some- 
times it  is  also  worth  while  to  say  that  Americanism  is  something 
noble  and  inspiring,  even  for  the  outsiders,  with  whom  naturally 
other  impulses  are  stronger  —  in  fact,  to  make  clear  that  this 
Americanism  is  a  consistent  system  of  tendencies  is  ultimately, 
perhaps,  only  another  way  of  attaining  the  reformer's  end. 

Only  one  word  more  —  a  word  of  thanks.  I  said  the  aim  of  the 
book  was  to  bring  the  facts  of  American  life  under  the  point  of 
view  of  general  principles,  but  not  to  embody  an  original  research 
in  American  history  and  institutions.  I  have  had  thus  to  accept 
the  facts  ready-made,  as  the  best  American  authors  present  them; 
and  I  am  thus  their  debtor  everywhere.  Since  the  book  is  popular 
in  its  style,  I  have  no  foot-notes  and  scholarly  quotations,  and  so 
cannot  enumerate  the  thousand  American  sources  from  which  I 


PREFACE  xi 

have  taken  my  material.  And  I  am  not  speaking  here  merely  of 
the  great  standard  books  and  specialistic  writings,  but  even  the 
daily  and  weekly  papers,  and  especially  the  leading  monthly  maga- 
zines, have  helped  to  fill  my  note-books.  My  thanks  are  due  to 
all  these  silent  helpers,  and  I  am  glad  to  share  with  them  the  wel- 
come which,  in  competent  quarters,  the  German  edition  of  the 
book  has  found. 

HUGO  MUNSTERBERG 
CAMBRIDGE,  MASS., 

October  25,  1904 


CONTENTS 

I.  POLITICAL  LIFE 

PAGE 

1.  THE  SPIRIT  or  SELF-DIRECTION 3 

2.  POLITICAL  PARTIES .         .  35 

3.  THE  PRESIDENT 63 

4.  CONGRESS 85 

5.  JUSTICE 101 

6.  CITY  AND  STATE 115 

7.  PUBLIC  OPINION 137 

8.  PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION 155 

9.  INTERNAL  POLITICAL  PROBLEMS 185 

10.  EXTERNAL  POLITICAL  PROBLEMS 201 

II.  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

11.  THE  SPIRIT  OF  SELF-INITIATIVE 229 

12.  THE  ECONOMIC  RISE 255 

13.  THE  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 278 

The  Silver  Question            ......  279 

The  Tariff  Question           ......  289 

The  Trust  Question            .          .          .          .          .          .  301 

The  Labour  Question        .         .         .         .         .         .  318 

III.  INTELLECTUAL  LIFE 

14.  THE  SPIRIT  OF  SELF-PERFECTION        .....  347 

15.  THE  SCHOOLS  AND  POPULAR  EDUCATION    .         ...         .  365 

16.  THE  UNIVERSITIES    ...         .         .         .         .         .  393 

17.  SCIENCE    .         . 425 

1 8.  LITERATURE 449 

19.  ART          .  .473 

20.  RELIGION 496 


xiv  CONTENTS 

IV.   SOCIAL  LIFE 

PAGE 

21.  THE  SPIRIT  OF  SELF-ASSERTION         .....        531 

22.  THE  SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN 558 

23.  ARISTOCRATIC  TENDENCIES 590 


PART  ONE 

POLITICAL  LIFE 


CHAPTER  ONE 

The  Spirit  of  Self-Direction 

WHOSOEVER  wishes  to  describe  the  political  life  of  the 
American  people  can  accomplish  this  end  from  a  num- 
ber of  starting  points.  Perhaps  he  would  begin  most 
naturally  with  the  Articles  of  the  Constitution  and  expound  the 
document  which  has  given  to  the  American  body-politic  its  re- 
markable and  permanent  form;  or  he  might  ramble  through  his- 
tory and  trace  out  from  petty  colonies  the  rise  of  a  great  world- 
power;  or  he  might  make  his  way  through  that  multitude  of  events 
which  to-day  arouse  the  keenest  public  interest,  the  party  strifes 
and  presidential  elections,  the  burdens  and  amenities  of  city  and 
state,  the  transactions  of  the  courts  and  of  Congress.  Yet  all  this 
would  be  but  a  superficial  delineation.  Whoever  wishes  to  under- 
stand the  secret  of  that  baffling  turmoil,  the  inner  mechanism  and 
motive  behind  all  the  politically  effective  forces,  must  set  out  from 
only  one  point.  He  must  appreciate  the  yearning  of  the  American 
heart  after  self-direction.  Everything  else  is  to  be  understood 
from  this. 

In  his  social  life  the  American  is  very  ready  to  conform  to  the 
will  of  another.  With  an  inborn  good-nature,  and  often  too  will- 
ingly, perhaps,  he  lends  himself  to  social  situations  which  are  other- 
wise inconvenient.  Thus  his  guest,  for  instance,  is  apt  to  feel  like 
a  master  in  his  house,  so  completely  is  his  own  will  subordinated 
to  that  of  the  guest.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  sphere  of  pub- 
lic life,  the  individual,  or  a  more  or  less  restricted  group  of  indi- 
viduals, feels  that  it  must  guide  its  own  activities  to  the  last  detail 
if  these  are  to  have  for  it  any  value  or  significance  whatsoever.  He 
will  allow  no  alien  motive  to  be  substituted  —  neither  the  self- 
renunciation  of  fidelity  or  gratitude,  nor  the  aesthetic  self-forgetful- 
ness  of  hero-worship,  nor  even  the  recognition  that  a  material 


4  THE  AMERICANS 

advantage  would  accrue  or  some  desirable  end  be  more  readily 
achieved  if  the  control  and  responsibility  were  to  be  vested  in  some 
one  else.  This  self-direction  is  neither  arbitrary  nor  perverse; 
least  of  all  does  it  indicate  a  love  of  ease  or  aversion  to  toil.  In 
Russia,  as  a  well-known  American  once  said,  serfdom  could  be 
wiped  out  by  a  stroke  of  the  Czar's  pen,  and  millions  of  Russians 
would  be  freed  from  slavery  with  no  loss  of  life  or  property. 
"We  Americans  had  to  offer  up  a  half-million  lives  and  many  mil- 
lions' worth  of  property  in  order  to  free  our  slaves.  And  yet  noth- 
ing else  was  to  be  thought  of.  We  had  to  overcome  that  evil  by 
our  own  initiative,  and  by  our  own  exertions  reach  our  goal.  And 
just  because  we  are  Americans  and  not  Russians  no  power  on 
earth  could  have  relieved  us  of  our  responsibility." 

When  in  any  people  the  desire  of  self-direction  dominates  all 
other  motives,  the  form  of  government  of  that  people  is  necessarily 
republican.  But  it  does  not  conversely  follow  that  every  republic 
is  grounded  in  this  spirit  of  self-direction.  Hence  it  is  that  the 
republic  of  the  United  States  is  so  entirely  different  from  all  other 
republics,  since  in  no  other  people  is  the  craving  for  self-deter- 
mination so  completely  the  informing  force.  The  republics  of 
Middle  and  South  America,  or  of  France,  have  sprung  from  an 
entirely  different  political  spirit;  while  those  newer  republics, 
which  in  fundamental  intention  are  perhaps  more  similar,  as  for 
instance  Switzerland,  are  still  not  comparable  because  of  their 
diminutive  size.  The  French  republic  is  founded  on  rationalism. 
The  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth  century,  with  its  destructive 
criticism  of  the  existing  order,  furnished  the  doctrines,  and  from 
that  seed  of  knowledge  there  grew  and  still  are  growing  the  prac- 
tical ideals  of  France.  But  the  political  life  of  the  United  States 
sprang  not  from  reasoned  motives  but  from  ideals;  it  is  not  the 
result  of  insight  but  of  will;  it  has  not  a  logical  but  a  moral  foun- 
dation. And  while  in  France  the  principles  embodied  in  the  con- 
stitution are  derived  from  theory,  the  somewhat  doubtful  doc- 
trines enunciated  in  the  Declaration  of  Independence  are  merely 
a  corollary  to  that  system  of  moral  ideals  which  is  indissolubly 
combined  with  the  American  character. 

It  is  not  here  to  be  questioned  whether  this  character  is  purely 
the  cause  and  not  also  the  effect  of  the  American  system;  but  so 
much  is  sure,  that  the  system  of  political  relations  which  has 


SELF-DIRECTION  5 

sprung  from  these  ethical  ideals  constitutes  the  actual  body- 
politic  of  America.  Such  is  the  America  which  receives  the  im- 
migrant and  so  thoroughly  transforms  him  that  the  demand  for 
self-determination  becomes  the  profoundest  passion  of  his  soul. 
Such  is  the  America  toward  which  he  feels  a  proud  and  earnest 
patriotism.  For  the  soil  on  which  his  kingdom  has  been  reared 
he  knows  but  scanty  sentiment  or  love;  indeed,  the  early  progress 
of  America  was  always  an  extension  of  the  frontier,  an  unremit- 
ting pushing  forth  over  new  domain.  The  American  may  be 
linked  by  personal  ties  to  a  particular  plot  of  land,  but  his  national 
patriotism  is  independent  of  the  soil.  It  is  also  independent  of 
the  people.  A  nation  which  in  every  decade  has  assimilated  mill- 
ions of  aliens,  and  whose  historic  past  everywhere  leads  back  to 
strange  peoples,  cannot  with  its  racial  variegation  inspire  a  pro- 
found feeling  of  indissoluble  unity.  And  yet  that  feeling  is  pres- 
ent here  as  it  is  perhaps  in  no  European  country.  American 
patriotism  is  directed  neither  to  soil  nor  citizen,  but  to  a  system  of 
ideas  respecting  society  which  is  compacted  by  the  desire  for  self- 
direction.  And  to  be  an  American  means  to  be  a  partizan  of  this 
system.  Neither  race  nor  tradition,  nor  yet  the  actual  past  binds 
him  to  his  countryman,  but  rather  the  future  which  together  they 
are  building.  It  is  a  community  of  purpose,  and  it  is  more  effect- 
ive than  any  tradition,  because  it  pervades  the  whole  man.  Par- 
ticipation in  a  common  task  holds  the  people  together,  a  task  with 
no  definite  and  tangible  end  nor  yet  any  special  victory  or  triumph 
to  look  forward  to,  but  rather  a  task  which  is  fulfilled  at  each 
moment,  which  has  its  meaning  not  in  any  result  but  in  the  doing, 
its  accomplishment  not  in  any  event  which  may  befall,  but  only  in 
the  Tightness  of  the  motive.  To  be  an  American  means  to  co- 
operate in  perpetuating  the  spirit  of  self-direction  throughout  the 
body-politic;  and  whosoever  does  not  feel  this  duty  and  actively 
respond  to  it,  although  perhaps  a  naturalized  citizen  of  the  land, 
remains  an  alien  forever. 

If  the  new-comer  is  readily  assimilated  in  such  a  society,  com- 
monly, yet  it  must  not  be  overlooked  that  those  who  come  from 
across  the  seas  are  not  selected  at  random.  Those  who  are 
strong  of  will  are  the  ones  who  seek  out  new  spheres  of  activity. 
Just  those  whose  satisfaction  in  life  has  been  stunted  by  a  petty 
and  oppressive  environment  have  always  cherished  a  longing  for 


6  THE  AMERICANS 

the  New  World.  That  conflict  which  every  one  must  wage  in  his 
own  bosom  before  he  can  finally  tear  himself  away  from  home,  has 
schooled  the  emigrant  for  the  spirit  of  his  new  home;  and  only 
those  who  have  been  impelled  by  the  desire  for  self-direction  have 
had  the  strength  to  break  the  ties  with  their  own  past.  Thus  it  is 
that  those  of  Germanic  extraction  adapt  themselves  so  much  more 
quickly  and  thoroughly  to  the  political  spirit  of  America  than  those 
of  Romanic  blood.  The  Latin  peoples  are  much  more  the  vic- 
tims of  suggestion.  Being  more  excitable,  they  are  more  imita- 
tive, and  therefore  as  individuals  less  stable.  The  Frenchman, 
Italian,  or  Spaniard  is  often  a  sympathetic  member  of  the  social 
life  of  the  country,  but  in  its  political  life  he  introduces  a  certain 
false  note;  his  republicanism  is  not  the  American  republicanism. 
As  a  moral  ideal  he  has  little  or  no  concern  with  the  doctrine  of 
self-direction. 

The  American  political  system,  therefore,  by  no  means  rep- 
resents an  ideal  of  universal  significance;  it  is  the  expression  of 
a  certain  character,  the  necessary  way  of  living  for  that  distinct 
type  of  man  which  an  historically  traceable  process  of  selection 
has  brought  together.  And  this  way  of  living  reacts  in  its  turn 
to  strengthen  the  fundamental  type.  Other  nations,  in  whom 
other  temperamental  factors  no  less  significant  or  potent  or  ad- 
mirable are  the  fundamental  traits,  must  find  the  solution  of 
their  political  problems  in  other  directions.  No  gain  would  accrue 
to  them  from  any  mere  imitation,  since  it  would  tend  to  nothing 
but  the  crippling  and  estranging  of  the  native  genius  of  their 
people. 

The  cultivated  American  of  to-day  feels  this  instinctively. 
Among  the  masses,  to  be  sure,  the  old  theme  is  still  sometimes 
broached  of  the  world-wide  supremacy  of  American  ideals:  and 
a  part  of  the  necessary  paraphernalia  of  popular  assemblages  will 
naturally  consist  in  a  reaffirmation  that  the  duty  of  America  is  to 
extend  its  political  system  into  every  quarter  of  the  globe;  other 
nations  will  thus  be  rated  according  to  their  ripeness  for  this  sys- 
tem, and  the  history  of  the  world  appear  one  long  and  happy 
education  of  the  human  race  up  to  the  plane  of  American  concep- 
tions. But  this  tendency  is  inevitable  and  not  to  be  despised.  It 
must  more  nearly  concern  the  American  than  the  citizen  of  other 
states  to  propagate  his  ideals,  since  here  everything  depends  on 


SELF-DIRECTION  ; 

each  individual  co-operating  with  all  his  might,  and  this  co-opera- 
tion must  succeed  best  when  it  is  impelled  by  an  uncritical  and 
blindly  devoted  faith.  And  such  a  faith  arouses,  too,  a  zealous  mis- 
sionary spirit,  which  wants  to  carry  this  inspired  state-craft  unto 
all  political  heathen.  But  the  foreigner  is  apt  to  overestimate 
these  sentiments.  The  cultivated  American  is  well  aware  that  the 
various  political  institutions  of  other  nations  are  not  to  be  gauged 
simply  as  good  or  bad,  and  that  the  American  system  would  be  as 
impossible  for  Germany  as  the  German  system  for  America. 

Those  days  are  indeed  remote  when  philosophy  tried  to  discover 
one  intrinsically  best  form  of  government.  It  is  true  that  in  the 
conflicts  of  diverse  nations  the  old  opposition  of  realistic  and  ideal- 
istic, of  democratic  and  aristocratic  social  forces  is  repeated  over 
and  over.  But  new  problems  are  always  coming  up.  The 
ancient  opposition  is  neutralized,  and  the  problem  finds  its  prac- 
tical solution  in  that  the  opposing  forces  deploy  their  skirmish 
lines  in  other  territory.  The  political  ideas  which  led  to  the 
French  Revolution  had  been  outlived  by  the  middle  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  A  compromise  had  been  effected.  The  whole 
stress  of  the  conflict  had  transferred  itself  to  social  problems,  and 
no  one  earnestly  discussed  any  more  whether  republic  or  monarchy 
was  the  better  form  of  government.  The  intellectual  make-up 
of  a  people  and  its  history  must  decide  what  shall  be  the  outward 
form  of  its  political  institutions.  And  it  is  to-day  tacitly  admitted 
that  there  are  light  and  shade  on  either  side. 

The  darker  side  of  democracy,  indeed,  as  of  every  system  which 
is  founded  on  complete  individualism,  can  be  hidden  from  no  one; 
nor  would  any  one  be  so  foolish,  even  though  he  loved  and  ad- 
mired America,  as  to  deny  that  weaknesses  and  dangers,  and  evils 
both  secret  and  public,  do  there  abound.  Those  who  base  their 
judgments  less  on  knowledge  of  democratic  forces  than  on  obvious 
and  somewhat  sentimental  social  prejudices  are  apt  to  look  for 
the  dangers  in  the  wrong  direction.  A  German  naturally  thinks 
of  mob-rule,  harangues  of  the  demagogue,  and  every  form  of  law- 
lessness and  violence.  But  true  democracy  does  not  allow  of  such 
things.  A  people  that  allows  itself  to  turn  into  a  mob  and  to  be 
guided  by  irresponsible  leaders,  is  not  capable  of  directing  itself. 
Self-direction  demands  the  education  of  the  nation.  And  no- 
where else  in  the  world  is  the  mere  demagogue  so  powerless,  and 


8  THE  AMERICANS 

nowhere  does  the  populace  observe  more  exemplary  order  and 
self-discipline. 

The  essential  weakness  of  such  a  democracy  is  rather  the  im- 
portance it  assigns  to  the  average  man  with  his  petty  opinions, 
which  are  sometimes  right  and  sometimes  wrong,  his  total  lack  of 
comprehension  for  all  that  is  great  and  exceptional,  his  self-satisfied 
dilettanteism  and  his  complacency  before  the  accredited  and  trite  in 
thought.  This  is  far  less  true  of  a  republic  like  the  French,  with  its 
genius  for  scepticism,  a  republic  nourished  in  aesthetic  traditions 
and  founded  on  the  ruins  of  an  empire.  The  intellectual  condi- 
tions are  there  quite  different.  But  in  an  ethical  democracy, 
where  self-direction  is  a  serious  issue,  domination  by  the  average 
intelligence  is  inevitable;  and  those  who  are  truly  great  are  the 
ones  who  find  no  scope  for  their  powers.  Those  who  appear 
great  are  merely  men  who  are  exploiting  to  the  utmost  the  ten- 
dencies of  the  day.  There  are  no  great  distinctions  or  premiums 
for  truly  high  achievements  which  do  not  immediately  concern 
the  average  man,  and  therefore  the  best  energies  of  the  nation  are 
not  spurred  on  to  their  keenest  activity.  All  ambition  is  directed 
necessarily  toward  such  achievements  as  the  common  man  can 
understand  and  compete  for  —  athletic  virtuosity  and  wealth. 
Therefore  the  spirit  of  sport  and  of  money-getting  concerns  the 
people  more  nearly  than  art  or  science,  and  even  in  politics  the 
domination  of  the  majority  easily  crowds  from  the  arena  those 
whose  qualifications  do  not  appeal  to  its  mediocre  taste.  And  by 
as  much  as  mature  and  capable  minds  withdraw  from  political 
life,  by  so  much  are  the  well-intentioned  masses  more  easily  led 
astray  by  sharp  and  self-interested  politicians  and  politics  made  to 
cater  to  mean  instincts.  In  short,  the  danger  is  not  from  any  wild 
lawlessness,  but  from  a  crass  philistinism.  The  seditious  dema- 
gogue who  appeals  to  passion  is  less  dangerous  than  the  sly  po- 
litical wire-puller  who  exploits  the  indolence  and  indifference  of 
the  people;  and  evil  intent  hs  less  to  be  feared  than  dilettanteism 
and  the  intellectual  limitations  of  the  general  public. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  also  certain  that  when  it  comes  to 
a  critical  comparison  between  the  weaknesses  and  theoretical  dan- 
gers of  democracy  and  aristocracy,  the  American  is  at  no  loss  to 
serve  up  a  handsome  list  of  shortcomings  to  the  other  side.  He 
has  observed  and,  perhaps  overestimating,  he  detests  the  spirit  of 


SELF-DIRECTION  9 

caste,  the  existence  of  those  restrictions  which  wrongfully  hamper 
one  individual  and  as  undeservedly  advantage  another.  Again, 
the  American  hates  bureaucracy  and  he  hates  militarism.  The 
idea  of  highest  authority  being  vested  in  a  man  for  any  other 
reason  than  that  of  his  individual  qualifications  goes  against  all 
his  convictions;  and  his  moral  feeling  knows  no  more  detestable 
breed  of  man  than  the  incompetent  aspirant  who  is  servile  with  his 
superiors  and  brutal  to  his  inferiors.  It  is  typically  un-American. 
And  if,  in  contrast  to  this,  one  tries  to  do  justice  to  the  proved  ad- 
vantages of  monarchy,  of  aristocracy  and  the  spirit  of  caste,  to 
justify  the  ruler  who  stands  above  the  strife  of  parties,  and  to  de- 
fend that  system  of  symbols  by  which  the  sentiment  of  the  past  is 
perpetuated  in  a  people,  and  the  protection  which  is  instituted  for 
all  the  more  ideal  undertakings  which  surpass  the  comprehension 
of  the  masses,  or  if  one  urges  the  value  of  that  high  efficiency 
which  can  arise  only  from  compact  political  organization  —  then 
the  American  citizen  swells  with  contempt.  What  does  he  care 
for  all  that  if  he  loses  the  inestimable  and  infinite  advantage 
which  lies  in  the  fact  that  in  his  state  every  individual  takes  an 
active  hand,  assumes  responsibility,  and  fights  for  his  own  ideals  ? 
What  outward  brilliancy  of  achievement  would  compensate  him 
for  that  moral  value  of  co-operation,  intiative,  self-discipline,  and 
responsibility,  which  the  poorest  and  meanest  citizen  enjoys  ?  It 
may  be  that  an  enlightened  and  well-meaning  monarch  sees  to  it 
that  the  least  peasant  can  sit  down  to  his  chicken  of  a  Sunday; 
but  God  raised  up  the  United  States  as  an  example  to  all  nations, 
that  it  shall  be  the  privilege  of  every  man  to  feel  himself  responsi- 
ble for  his  town,  county,  state,  and  country,  and  even  for  all  man- 
kind, and  by  his  own  free  initiative  to  work  to  better  them.  The 
strife  of  parties  would  better  be,  than  that  a  single  man  should  be 
dead  to  the  welfare  of  his  country;  and  it  is  good  riddance  to  aris- 
tocracy and  plenty,  if  a  single  man  is  to  be  prevented  from  emulat- 
ing freely  the  highest  that  he  knows  or  anywise  detained  from  his 
utmost  accomplishment. 

All  such  speculative  estimates  of  different  constitutional  forms 
lead  to  no  result  unless  they  take  into  account  the  facts  of  history. 
Every  side  has  its  good  and  evil.  And  all  such  discussions  are  the 
less  productive  in  that  superiorities  of  constitution,  although 
soundly  argued,  may  or  may  not  in  any  given  country  be  fully 


io  THE  AMERICANS 

made  use  of,  while  on  the  other  hand  defects  of  constitution  are 
very  often  obviated.  Indeed,  to  take  an  example  from  present 
tendencies  in  America,  nothing  is  more  characteristic  than  the 
aristocratic  by-currents  through  which  so  many  dangers  of  de- 
mocracy are  avoided.  Officially,  of  course,  a  republic  must  re- 
main a  democracy,  otherwise  it  mines  its  own  foundations,  and 
yet  we  shall  see  that  American  social  and  political  life  have  de- 
veloped by  no  means  along  parallel  lines  but  rather  stand  out  often 
in  sharp  contrast.  The  same  is  true  of  Germany.  Official  Ger- 
many is  aristocratic  and  monarchic  through  and  through,  and  no 
one  would  wish  it  other;  but  the  intimate  life  of  Germany  becomes 
every  day  more  democratic,  and  thus  the  natural  weaknesses  of  an 
aristocracy  are  checked  by  irresistible  social  counter-tendencies. 
It  may  have  been  the  growing  wealth  of  Germany  which  raised 
the  plane  of  life  of  the  middle  classes;  or  the  industrial  advance 
which  loaned  greater  importance  to  manufacturer  and  merchant, 
and  took  some  social  gloss  from  the  office-holding  class;  it  may 
have  been  the  colonial  expansion  which  broadened  the  horizon 
and  upset  a  stagnant  equilibrium  of  stale  opinion;  or,  again,  the  re- 
newed efforts  of  those  who  felt  cramped  and  oppressed,  the  labour- 
ers, and,  above  all,  the  women;  it  does  not  matter  how  it  arose  - 
a  wave  of  progress  is  sweeping  over  that  country,  and  a  political 
aristocracy  is  being  infused  with  new,  democratic  blood. 

Now  in  America,  as  will  often  appear  later,  the  days  are  over 
in  which  all  aristocratic  tendencies  were  strictly  held  back.  The 
influence  of  intellectual  leaders  is  increasing,  art,  science,  and  the 
ideals  of  the  upper  classes  are  continually  pushing  to  the  front, 
and  even  social  lines  and  stratifications  are  beginning  more  and 
more  to  be  felt.  The  soul  of  the  people  is  agitated  by  imperial- 
istic and  military  sentiments,  and  whereas  in  former  times  it  was 
bent  on  freeing  the  slaves  it  now  discovers  "the  white  man's  bur- 
den" to  lie  in  the  subjugation  of  inferior  races.  The  restrictions 
to  immigration  are  constantly  being  increased.  Now  of  course 
all  this  does  not  a  whit  prejudice  the  formal  political  democracy 
of  the  land;  it  is  simply  a  quiet,  aristocratic  complement  to  the 
inner  workings  of  the  constitution. 

The  presence,  and  even  the  bare  possibility,  here,  of  such  by- 
currents,  brings  out  more  clearly  how  hopeless  the  theoretical  esti- 
mation of  any  isolated  form  of  statehood  is,  if  it  neglects  the  fac- 


SELF-DIRECTION  n 

tors  introduced  by  the  actual  life  of  the  people.  The  American 
democracy  is  not  an  abstractly  superior  system  of  which  a  Euro- 
pean can  approve  only  by  becoming  himself  a  republican  and  con- 
demning, incidentally,  his  own  form  of  government :  it  is  rather, 
merely,  the  necessary  form  of  government  for  the  types  of  men  and 
the  conditions  which  are  found  here.  And  any  educated  Ameri- 
can of  to-day  fully  realizes  this.  No  theoretical  hair-splitting  will 
solve  the  problem  as  to  what  is  best  for  one  or  another  country; 
for  that  true  historical  insight  is  needed.  And  even  when  the 
histories  of  two  peoples  are  so  utterly  dissimilar  as  are  those  of 
America  and  Germany,  it  by  no  means  follows,  as  the  social  by- 
currents  just  mentioned  show,  that  the  real  spirit  of  the  peoples 
must  be  unlike.  Democratic  America,  with  its  unofficial  aris- 
tocratic leanings,  has,  in  fact,  a  surprising  kinship  to  mon- 
archical Germany,  with  its  inner  workings  of  a  true  democracy. 
The  two  peoples  are  growing  into  strong  resemblance,  although 
their  respective  constitutions  flourish  and  take  deeper  root. 

The  beginnings  of  American  history  showed  unmistakably  and 
imperatively  that  the  government  of  the  American  people  must 
be,  in  the  words  of  Lincoln,  "  a  government  of  the  people,  by  the 
people,  and  for  the  people."  No  one  dreamed  when  the  Consti- 
tution of  the  United  States  was  framed,  some  hundred  and  seven- 
teen years  ago,  that  this  democratic  instrument  would  ever  be 
called  on  to  bind  together  a  mighty  nation  extending  from  Maine 
to  California.  And,  indeed,  such  a  territorial  expansion  would 
undoubtedly  have  stretched  and  burst  the  unifying  bonds  of  this 
Constitution,  if  the  distance  between  Boston  and  San  Francisco 
had  not  meanwhile  become  practically  shorter  than  the  road  from 
Boston  to  Washington  was  in  those  early  days.  But  that  this 
Constitution  could  so  adapt  itself  to  the  undreamt  broadening  of 
conditions,  that  it  could  continue  to  be  the  mainstay  of  a  people 
that  was  indefinitely  extending  itself  by  exchange  and  purchase, 
conquest  and  treaty,  and  that  in  no  crisis  has  an  individual  or 
party  succeeded  in  any  tampering  with  the  rights  of  the  people;  all 
this  shows  convincingly  that  the  American  form  of  state  was  not 
arbitrarily  hit  on,  but  that  it  was  the  outcome  of  an  historical 
development. 


12  THE  AMERICANS 

The  spirit  of  this  commonwealth  was  not  first  conceived 
in  the  year  1787.  It  was  strong  and  ripe  long  before  the  delegates 
from  the  Thirteen  States  assembled  under  Washington's  leader- 
ship in  Independence  Hall  at  Philadelphia.  The  history  of  the 
English  colonists  to  the  Atlantic  coast  shows  from  the  very  first 
what  weight  they  attached  to  the  duties  and  rights  of  the  individ- 
ual, and  foretells  as  well  the  inevitable  result,  their  unloosing  from 
the  mother  country  and  final  declaration  of  their  independence. 

We  may  consider  the  different  lines  of  development  which 
began  early  in  the  seventeenth  century,  after  the  feeble  attempts 
at  colonization  from  England,  France  and  Spain  in  the  latter  half 
of  the  sixteenth  century  had  miscarried  and  left  socially  no  traces. 
French  settlements  flourished  as  early  as  1605,  chiefly  however  in 
Nova  Scotia  and  other  parts  of  Canada,  and  in  1609  settlements 
of  Dutch,  whose  colony  on  the  Hudson  River,  the  present  New 
York,  soon  passed  over  into  English  hands.  The  development  of 
the  Spanish  colonies  on  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  went  on  outside  the 
territory  of  these  young  United  States;  and  so  the  story  of  the 
meagre  years  of  America  is  comprised  in  the  history  of  the 
English  colonies  alone. 

O 

These  colonies  began  diversely  but  came  to  resemble  one 
another  more  and  more  as  time  went  on.  There  can  be  no  greater 
contrast  than  between  the  pioneer  life  of  stout-willed  men,  who 
have  left  their  native  soil  in  order  to  live  in  undisturbed  enjoyment 
of  their  Puritan  faith,  seeking  to  found  their  little  communities  on 
simple  forms  of  self-government,  and  on  the  other  hand  the  occupa- 
tion of  a  rich  trading  company  under  royal  charter,  or  the  inaugura- 
tion of  a  colony  of  the  crown.  But  these  differences  could  not  be  pre- 
served. The  tiny  independent  communities,  as  they  grew  in  con- 
sideration, felt  the  need  of  some  protecting  power  and  therefore 
they  looked  once  more  to  England;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  more  powerful,  chartered  colonies  tended  to  loose  themselves 
from  the  mother  country,  feeling,  as  they  soon  did,  that  their 
interests  could  not  be  well  administered  from  across  a  broad 
ocean.  In  spite  of  the  protecting  arm  of  England,  they  felt  it  to 
be  a  condition  of  their  sound  growth  that  they  should  manage  their 
domestic  affairs  for  themselves.  Thus  it  happened  that  all  the  colo- 
nies alike  were  externally  dependent  on  England,  while  internally 
they  were  independent  and  were  being  schooled  in  citizenship. 


SELF-DIRECTION  13 

The  desire  for  self-government  as  a  factor  in  the  transformations 
which  went  on  can  very  easily  be  traced;  but  it  would  be  harder 
to  say  how  far  utilitarian  and  how  far  moral  factors  entered  in. 
Virginia  took  the  first  step.  Its  first  settlement  of  1606  was 
completely  subject  to  the  king,  who  granted  homesteads  but  no 
political  rights  to  the  colonists.  It  was  a  lifeless  undertaking  un- 
til 1609,  when  its  political  status  was  changed.  The  administra- 
tion of  the  colony  was  entrusted  to  those  who  were  interested  in 
its  material  success.  It  became  a  great  business  undertaking 
which  had  everything  in  its  favour.  At  the  head  was  a  London 
company,  which  for  a  nominal  sum  had  been  allowed  to  purchase 
a  strip  of  land  having  four  hundred  miles  of  seacoast  and  extend- 
ing inland  indefinitely.  This  land  contained  inestimable  natural 
resources,  but  needed  labour  to  exploit  them.  The  company  then 
offered  to  grant  homes  on  very  favourable  terms  to  settlers,  re- 
ceiving in  return  either  cash  or  labour;  and  these  inducements, 
together  with  the  economic  pressure  felt  by  the  lower  classes  at 
home,  brought  about  a  rapid  growth  of  the  colony.  Now  since 
this  colony  was  organized  like  a  military  despotism,  whose  ruler, 
however,  was  no  less  than  three  thousand  miles  away,  the  interests 
of  the  company  had  to  be  represented  by  officials  delegated  to  live 
in  the  colony.  The  interests  of  these  officials  were  of  course  never 
those  of  the  colonists,  and  presently,  moreover,  unscrupulous 
officials  commenced  to  misuse  their  power;  so  that  as  a  result,  while 
the  colony  flourished,  the  company  was  on  the  brink  of  failure. 
The  only  way  out  of  this  difficulty  was  to  concede  something  to  the 
colonists  themselves,  and  harmonize  their  interests  with  those  of 
the  company  by  granting  them  the  free  direction  of  their  own 
affairs.  It  was  arranged  that  every  village  or  small  city  should  be 
a  political  unit  and  as  such  should  send  two  delegates  to  a  con- 
vention which  sat  to  deliberate  all  matters  of  common  concern. 
This  body  met  for  the  first  time  in  1619;  and  in  a  short  time  it 
happened,  as  was  to  be  expected,  that  the  local  government  felt 
itself  to  be  stronger  than  the  mercantile  company  back  in  London. 
Disputes  arose,  and  before  five  years  the  company  had  ceased  to 
exist,  and  Virginia  became  a  royal  province.  But  the  fact  re- 
mained that  in  the  year  1619  for  the  first  time  a  deliberative  body 
representing  the  people  had  met  on  American  soil.  The  first  step 
toward  freedom  had  been  taken.  And  with  subtle  irony  fate  de- 


r4  THE  AMERICANS 

creed  that  in  this  same  year  of  grace  a  Dutch  ship  should  land  the 
first  cargo  of  African  negroes  in  the  same  colony,  as  slaves. 

That  other  form  of  political  development,  which  started  in  the 
voluntary  compact  of  men  who  owned  no  other  allegiance,  was 
first  exemplified  in  the  covenant  of  those  hundred  and  two  Puri- 
tans who  landed  from  the  Mayflower  at  Plymouth,  in  the  year 
1620,  having  forsaken  England  in  order  to  enjoy  religious  free- 
dom in  the  New  World.  A  storm  forced  them  to  land  on  Cape 
Cod,  where  they  remained  and  amid  the  severest  hardships  built 
up  their  little  colony,  which,  as  no  other,  has  been  a  perpetual 
spring  of  moral  force.  Even  to-day  the  best  men  of  the  land  de- 
rive their  strength  from  the  moral  courage  and  earnestness  of  life 
of  the  Pilgrims.  Before  they  landed  they  signed  a  compact,  in 
which  they  declared  that  they  had  made  this  voyage  "  for  ye  glory 
of  God  and  advancement  of  ye  Christian  faith,  and  honour  of  our 
King  and  countrie,"  and  that  now  in  the  sight  of  God  they  would 
"  combine  .  .  .  togeather  into  a  civil  body  politik  for  our  better 
ordering  and  preservation  and  furtherance  of  ye  end  aforesaid, 
and  by  vertue  hearof  to  enacte,  constitute  and  frame  such  just 
and  equal  lawes,  ordinances,  actes,  constitutions  and  offices  from 
time  to  time,  as  shall  be  thought  most  meete  and  convenient  for 
ye  generall  good  of  ye  colonie." 

The  executive  was  a  governor  and  his  assistants,  elected  an- 
nually from  the  people:  while  the  power  to  make  laws  remained 
with  the  body  of  male  communicants  of  the  church.  And  so  it  re- 
mained for  eighteen  years,  until  the  growth  of  the  colony  made  it 
hard  for  all  church-members  to  meet  together,  so  that  a  simple 
system  of  popular  representation  by  election  had  to  be  introduced. 
This  colony  united  later  with  a  flourishing  trading  settlement, 
which  centred  about  Salem;  and  these  together  formed  the  Massa- 
chusetts Bay  Colony,  which  in  1640  numbered  already  twenty 
thousand  souls. 

The  covenant  which  was  drawn  up  on  board  the  Mayflower  is 
to  be  accounted  the  first  voluntary  federation  of  independent 
Americans  for  the  purposes  of  orderly  government.  The  first 
written  constitution  was  drawn  up  in  the  colony  of  Connecticut, 
a  colony  which  repeated  essentially  the  successful  experiments  of 
New  Plymouth,  and  which  consisted  of  agricultural  settlements 
and  small  posts  for  trading  with  the  Indians  situated  at  Windsor 


SELF-DIRECTION  15 

and  Hartford  and  other  places  along  the  Connecticut  Valley. 
Led  by  common  interests,  they  adopted  in  1638  a  formal  con- 
stitution. 

There  was  still  a  third  important  type  of  colonial  government, 
which  was  at  first  thoroughly  aristocratic  and  English,  and  never- 
theless became  quickly  Americanized.  It  was  the  custom  of  the 
King  to  grant  to  distinguished  men,  under  provision  of  a  small 
tribute,  almost  monarchical  rights  over  large  tracts  of  land.  The 
first  such  man  was  Lord  Baltimore,  who  received  in  1632  a  title  to 
the  domain  of  Maryland,  on  the  Chesapeake  Bay.  He  enjoyed 
the  most  complete  princely  prerogatives,  and  pledged  to  the  crown 
in  return  about  a  fifth  part  of  the  gold  and  silver  mined  in  his 
province.  In  1664  Charles  the  Second  gave  to  his  brother,  the  Duke 
of  York,  a  large  territory,  which  was  soon  broken  up,  and  which 
included  what  are  now  known  as  the  States  of  Vermont,  New  Jer- 
sey, and  Delaware.  The  great  provinces  of  Georgia  and  Carolina 
—  now  North  and  South  Carolina  —  were  awarded  by  the  same 
King  to  one  of  his  admirals,  Sir  William  Penn,  for  certain  services. 
Penn  died,  and  his  son,  who  found  himself  in  need  of  the  sixteen 
thousand  pounds  which  his  father  had  loaned  to  the  King,  grati- 
fied that  monarch  by  accepting  in  their  stead  a  stretch  of  coast 
lands  extending  between  the  fortieth  and  forty-third  degrees  of 
latitude. 

In  this  way  extensive  districts  were  turned  over  to  the  caprice 
of  a  few  noblemen;  but  immediately  the  spirit  of  self-direction 
took  everywhere  root,  and  a  social-political  enthusiasm  proceeded 
to  shape  the  land  according  to  new  ideals.  Carolina  took  counsel 
of  the  philosopher,  Locke,  in  carrying  out  her  experiment.  Mary- 
land, which  was  immediately  prospered  with  two  hundred  men  of 
property  and  rank,  chiefly  of  Roman  Catholic  faith,  started  out 
with  a  general  popular  assembly,  and  soon  went  over  to  the  repre- 
sentative system.  And  Penn's  constructive  handiwork,  the 
Quaker  State  of  Pennsylvania,  was  intended  from  the  first  to  be 
"a  consecrated  experiment."  Penn  himself  explained  that  he 
should  take  care  so  to  arrange  the  politics  of  his  colony  that 
neither  he  himself  nor  his  successors  should  have  an  opportunity 
to  do  wrong.  Penn's  enthusiasm  awoke  response  from  the 
continent:  he  himself  founded  the  "city  of  brotherly  love," 
Philadelphia;  and  Franz  Daniel  Pastorius  brought  over  his 


16  THE  AMERICANS 

colony  of  Mennonites,  the  first  German  settlers,  who  took  up 
their  abode  at  Germantown. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  spirit  of  self-reliant  and  self-assertive  in- 
dependence took  root  in  the  most  various  soils.  But  that  which 
led  the  colonies  to  unite  was  not  their  common  sentiments  and 
ambitions,  but  it  was  their  common  enemies.  In  spite  of  the 
similarity  of  their  positions  there  was  no  lack  of  sharp  contrasts. 
And  perhaps  the  most  striking  of  these  was  the  opposition  between 
the  southern  colonies,  with  their  languid  climate,  where  the  plant- 
ers left  all  the  work  to  slaves,  and  the  middle  and  northern  prov- 
inces, where  the  citizens  found  in  work  the  inspiration  of  their 
lives.  The  foes  which  bound  together  these  diverse  elements  were 
the  Indians,  the  French,  the  Spanish,  and  lastly  their  parent 
race,  the  English. 

The  Indian  had  been  lord  of  the  land  until  he  was  driven  back 
by  the  colonists  to  remoter  hunting  territory.  The  more  warlike 
tribes  tried  repeatedly  to  wipe  out  the  white  intruder,  and  con- 
stantly menaced  the  isolated  settlements,  which  were  by  no  means 
a  match  for  them.  Soon  after  the  first  serious  conflict  in  1636,  the 
Pequot  war,  Rhode  Island,  which  was  a  small  colony  of  scattered 
settlements,  made  overtures  toward  a  protective  alliance  with  her 
stronger  neighbours.  In  this  she  was  successful,  and  together 
with  Massachusetts,  Plymouth,  New  Haven,  and  Connecticut, 
formed  the  United  Colonies  of  New  England.  This  union  was  of 
little  practical  importance  except  as  a  first  lesson  to  the  colonies  to 
avoid  petty  jealousies  and  to  consider  a  closer  mutual  alliance  as  a 
possibility  which  would  by  no  means  impair  the  freedom  and  in- 
dependence of  the  uniting  parties. 

The  wars  with  the  French  colonies  had  more  serious  conse- 
quences. The  French,  who  were  the  natural  enemies  of  all  Eng- 
lish settlements,  had  originally  planted  colonies  only  in  the  far 
north,  in  Quebec  in  1608.  But  during  those  decades  in  which  the 
English  wayfarers  were  making  homes  for  themselves  along  the 
Atlantic  coast,  the  French  were  migrating  down  from  the  north 
through  the  valley  of  the  Saint  Lawrence  and  along  the  Great 
Lakes  to  the  Mississippi  River.  Then  they  pressed  on  down  this 
stream  to  its  mouth  and  laid  title  to  the  tremendous  tracts  which  it 
drains,  in  the  name  of  the  French  crown.  This  country  they 
called  after  King  Louis  XIV,  Louisiana.  They  had  not  come  as 


SELF-DIRECTION  17 

colonists,  but  solely  with  an  eye  to  gain,  hoping  to  exploit  these  un- 
touched resources  in  behalf  of  the  Canadian  fur  traffic;  and  close 
on  the  heels  of  the  trader  came  the  Catholic  priest.  Thus  the 
territory  that  flanked  the  English  colonies  to  inland  fell  into  French 
hands,  whereas  the  land-grants  of  the  English  crown  so  read  that 
only  the  Pacific  Ocean  should  be  the  western  boundary.  A  col- 
lision was  therefore  inevitable,  although  indeed  mountains  and 
virgin  forests  separated  the  coastland  settlements  from  the  inland 
regions  of  the  Mississippi  where  the  French  had  planted  and  for- 
tified their  trading  posts. 

When,  in  1689,  war  broke  out  in  Europe  between  England  and 
France,  a  fierce  struggle  began  between  their  representatives  in 
the  New  World.  But  it  was  not  now  as  it  had  been  in  the  Indian 
war,  where  only  a  couple  of  colonies  were  involved.  All  the 
colonies  along  the  coast  were  threatened  by  a  common  enemy. 
A  congress  of  delegates  convened  at  New  York  in  April  of  1690, 
in  which  for  the  first  time  all  the  colonies  were  invited  to  take  part. 
Three  long  wars  followed.  The  greatest  advantage  on  the  French 
side  was  that  from  the  first  they  had  been  on  good  terms  with  the 
Indians,  whose  aid  they  were  now  able  to  enlist.  But  the  French 
were  numerically  weak,  and  received  but  little  assistance  from 
their  mother  country.  When  in  1766  the  last  great  war  broke  out 
the  English  colonies  had  a  population  of  a  million  and  a  quarter, 
while  the  French  had  only  a  tenth  as  many.  Chiefly  and  finally, 
the  English  colonists  were  actual  settlers,  hardened  and  matured 
through  carrying  the  responsibilities  of  their  young  state,  and 
fighting  for  hearth  and  home;  the  French  were  either  traders  or 
soldiers.  The  principle  of  free  government  was  destined  on  this 
continent  to  triumph.  Washington,  then  a  young  man,  led  the 
fight;  the  English  Secretary  of  State,  William  Pitt,  did  everything 
in  his  power  to  aid;  and  the  victory  was  complete.  By  the  treaty 
of  1763  all  French  possessions  east  of  the  Mississippi  were  given  to 
England,  with  the  exception  of  New  Orleans,  which,  together  with 
the  French  possessions  west  of  the  Mississippi,  went  to  Spain. 
Spain  meanwhile  ceded  Florida  to  England.  Thus  the  entire 
continent  was  divided  between  England  and  Spain. 

But  the  Seven  Years  War  had  not  merely  altered  the  map  of 
America;  it  had  been  an  instructive  lesson  to  the  colonists.  They 
had  learned  that  their  fortunes  were  one;  that  their  own  generals 


i8  THE  AMERICANS 

and  soldiers  were  not  inferior  to  any  which  England  could  send 
over;  and  lastly,  they  had  come  to  see  that  England  looked  at  the 
affairs  of  the  colonies  strictly  from  the  point  of  view  of  her  own 
gain.  Herewith  was  opened  up  a  new  prospect  for  the  future: 
the  French  no  longer  threatened  and  everything  this  side  of 
the  Mississippi  stood  open  to  them  and  promised  huge  resources. 
What  need  had  they  to  depend  further  on  the  English  throne  ? 
The  spirit  of  self-direction  could  now  consistently  come  forward 
and  dictate  the  last  move. 

It  is  true  that  the  colonists  were  still  faithful  English  subjects, 
and  in  spite  of  their  independent  ambitions  they  took  it  for  granted 
that  England  would  always  direct  their  foreign  policy,  would  have 
the  right  to  veto  such  laws  as  they  passed,  and  that  the  English 
governors  would  always  be  recognized  as  official  authorities.  But 
now  the  English  Parliament  planned  certain  taxations  thatwere  the 
occasion  of  serious  dispute.  The  Thirteen  Colonies,  which  in  the 
meantime  had  grown  to  be  a  population  of  two  million,  had  by 
their  considerable  war  expenditures  shown  to  the  debt-encumbered 
Britons  the  thriving  condition  of  colonial  trade.  And  the  latter 
were  soon  ready  with  a  plan  to  lay  a  part  of  the  public  taxation  on 
the  Americans.  It  was  not  in  itself  unfair  to  demand  of  the  colon- 
ies some  contribution  to  the  public  treasury,  since  many  of  the  ex- 
penditures were  distinctly  for  their  benefit;  and  yet  it  must  have 
seemed  extraordinary  to  these  men  who  had  been  forced  from 
childhood  to  shift  for  themselves,  and  who  believed  the  doctrine 
of  self-government  to  be  incontrovertible.  They  objected  to  pay- 
ing taxes  to  a  Parliament  in  which  they  had  no  representation; 
and  the  phrase,  "no  taxation  without  representation,"  became 
the  motto  of  the  hour. 

The  Stamp  Tax,  which  prescribed  the  use  of  revenue  stamps  on 
all  American  documents  and  newspapers,  was  received  with  con- 
sternation, and  societies  called  the  Sons  of  Freedom  were  formed 
throughout  the  land  to  agitate  against  this  innovation.  The 
Stamp  Tax  Congress,  which  met  in  New  York  in  1765,  repudiated 
the  law  in  outspoken  terms.  Nor  did  it  halt  with  a  mere  express- 
ion of  opinion;  the  spirit  of  self-direction  was  not  to  be  molested 
with  impunity.  Close  on  the  resolve  not  to  observe  the  law,  came 
the  further  agreement  to  buy  no  English  merchandise.  England 
had  to  waive  the  Stamp  Tax,  but  endless  mutterings  and  recrim- 


SELF-DIRECTION  i9 

inations  followed  which  increased  the  bitterness.  Both  sides 
were  ripe  for  war  when,  in  1770,  England  issued  a  proclamation 
laying  a  tax  on  all  tea  imported  to  the  colonies.  The  citizens  of 
Boston  became  enraged  and  pitched  an  English  ship-load  of  tea 
into  the  harbour.  Thereupon  England,  equally  aroused,  pro- 
ceeded to  punish  Boston  by  passing  measures  designed  to  ruin  the 
commerce  of  Boston  and  indeed  all  Massachusetts.  The  Thir- 
teen Colonies  took  sides  with  Massachusetts  and  a  storm  became 
imminent.  The  first  battle  was  fought  on  the  iQth  of  April,  1775; 
and  on  July  4th,  1776,  the  Thirteen  Colonies  declared  their  in- 
dependence of  England.  Henceforth  there  were  to  be  no  colonies 
but  in  their  place  thirteen  free  states. 

The  Declaration  of  Independence  was  composed  by  Jefferson, 
a  Virginian,  and  is  a  remarkable  document.  The  spirit  that  in- 
forms it  is  found  in  the  following  lines:  "We  hold  these  truths  to 
be  self-evident,  that  all  men  are  created  equal;  that  they  are  en- 
dowed by  their  Creator  with  certain  unalienable  rights;  that 
among  these  are  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness.  That 
to  secure  these  rights,  governments  are  instituted  among  men,  de- 
riving their  just  powers  from  the  consent  of  the  governed  .  .  . " 
The  sins  of  the  English  king  and  people  against  America  are 
enumerated  at  length,  and  in  solemn  language  the  United  States 
of  America  are  declared  independent  of  the  English  people,  who 
are  henceforth  to  be  as  "the  rest  of  mankind,  enemies  in  war,  in 
peace  friends."  This  Declaration  was  signed  by  delegates  from 
the  states  in  Independence  Hall,  in  Philadelphia,  where  hung  the 
famous  bell,  with  its  inscription,  "  Proclaim  liberty  throughout 
all  the  land,  unto  all  the  inhabitants  thereof." 

The  spirit  of  self-direction  had.  triumphed;  but  the  dangers  were 
by  no  means  wholly  passed.  England  sent  over  no  more  govern- 
ors, and  had  indeed  been  repulsed;  but  she  had  as  yet  no  inten- 
tion of  giving  in.  The  war  dragged  on  for  five  long  years,  and  the 
outcome  was  uncertain  until  in  1781  Cornwallis  was  brought  to 
surrender.  Then  England  knew  that  she  had  lost  the  contest. 
The  king  desired  still  to  prolong  the  war,  but  the  people  were  tired 
of  it  and,  the  ministry  having  finally  to  yield,  peace  was  declared 
in  April  of  the  year  1783.  This  was  no  assurance  of  an  harmoni- 
ous future,  however.  That  solidarity  which  the  colonies  had  felt 
in  the  face  of  a  common  enemy  now  gave  way  to  petty  jealousies 


20  THE  AMERICANS 

and  oppositions,  and  the  inner  weakness  of  the  new  Union  was  re- 
vealed. In  itself  the  Union  had  no  legal  authority  over  the  sev- 
eral states,  and  while  during  the  war  the  affairs  of  the  country  had 
fallen  into  disorder,  yet  the  Union  had  no  power  to  conduct 
foreign  diplomacy  or  even  to  collect  customs. 

It  was  rather  in  their  zeal  for  self-direction  that  at  first  consider- 
able portions  of  the  population  seemed  disinclined  to  enlarge  the 
authority  of  the  central  organization.  Self-direction  begins  with 
the  individual  or  some  group  of  individuals.  -The  true  self-direc- 
tion of  society  as  a  whole  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  encroach  on  the 
rights  of  the  individual,  and  this  was  the  danger  feared.  Each 
state,  with  its  separate  interests  and  powers,  would  not  give  up 
its  autonomy  in  favour  of  an  impersonal  central  power  which 
might  easily  come  to  tyrannize  over  the  single  state  in  much  the 
same  way  as  the  hated  English  throne  had  done.  And  yet  the 
best  men  of  the  country  were  brought  at  length  more  and  more 
to  the  opposite  view;  a  strong  central  authority,  in  which  the 
states  as  a  whole  should  become  a  larger  self-directing  unit, 
carrying  out  and  ensuring  the  self-direction  of  the  component 
members,  was  seen  to  be  a  necessity.  Another  congress  of  repre- 
sentatives from  all  the  states  was  convened  in  Independence  Hall, 
at  Philadelphia,  and  this  body  of  uncommonly  able  men  sat  for 
months  deliberating  ways  by  which  the  opposing  factions  of  fed- 
eralism and  anti-federalism  could  be  brought  together  in  a  satis- 
factory alliance.  It  was  obvious  that  compromises  would  have  to 
be  made.  So,  for  instance,  it  was  conceded  that  the  smallest  state, 
like  the  largest,  should  be  represented  in  the  senate  by  two  dele- 
gates: and  the  single  state  enjoyed  many  other  rights  not  usual  in 
a  federation.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  equally  certain  that 
the  chief  executive  must  be  a  single  man  with  a  firm  will,  and  that 
this  office  must  be  refilled  at  frequent  intervals  by  a  popular  elec- 
tion. A  few  had  tentatively  suggested  making  Washington  king, 
but  he  stood  firm  against  any  such  plan.  The  republican  form  of 
government  was  in  this  instance  no  shrewdly  devised  system 
which  was  adopted  for  the  sake  of  nicely  spun  theoretical  advan- 
tages —  it  was  the  necessity  of  the  time  and  place,  the  natural 
culmination  of  a  whole  movement.  It  was  as  absolutely  necessary 
as  the  consolidation  of  the  German  states,  eighty  years  later,  under 
an  imperial  crown.  The  congress  eventually  submitted  a  con- 


SELF-DIRECTION  21 

stitutional  project  to  the  several  state  legislatures,  for  their  sum- 
mary approval  or  rejection.  Whereon  the  anti-federalistic  fac- 
tions made  a  final  effort,  but  were  outvoted,  and  the  Constitution 
was  adopted.  In  1789  George  Washington  was  elected  the  first 
president  of  the  United  States. 

It  would  take  a  lively  partisan  to  assert,  as  one  sometimes  does, 
that  this  Constitution  is  the  greatest  achievement  of  human  in- 
tellect, and  yet  the  severest  critics  have  acknowledged  that  a  genius 
for  statesmanship  is  displayed  in  its  text.  Penned  in  an  age 
which  was  given  over  to  bombastic  declamation,  this  document 
lays  down  the  fundamental  lines  of  the  new  government  with  great 
clearness  and  simplicity.  "We,  the  people  of  the  United  States," 
it  begins,  "in  order  to  form  a  more  perfect  union,  establish  jus- 
tice, insure  domestic  tranquillity,  provide  for  the  common  defence, 
promote  the  general  welfare,  and  secure  the  blessings  of  liberty  to 
ourselves  and  our  posterity,  do  ordain  and  establish  this  Consti- 
tution for  the  United  States  of  America."  This  is  the  entire  intro- 
duction. The  contents  come  under  seven  articles.  The  first  article 
provides  for  the  making  of  laws,  this  power  to  be  vested  in  a  Con- 
gress consisting  of  a  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives;  for  the 
business  and  daily  routine  of  this  Congress,  as  well  as  its  powers 
and  obligations.  The  second  article  provides  for  the  executive 
power,  to  be  vested  in  the  person  of  the  President,  who  is  elected 
every  fourth  year;  the  third  article  provides  for  a  judiciary;  the 
fourth  defines  the  mutual  relations  of  separate  states;  and  the  last 
three  articles  concern  the  adoption  of  the  Constitution  and  the 
conditions  under  which  it  may  be  amended. 

The  need  of  amendments  and  extensions  to  this  Constitution 
was  foreseen  and  provided  for.  How  profoundly  the  original 
document  comprehended  and  expressed  the  genius  of  the  Ameri- 
can people  may  be  seen  from  the  fact  that  during  a  century  which 
saw  an  unexampled  growth  of  the  country  and  an  undreamed-of 
transformation  of  its  foreign  policy,  not  a  single  great  principle  of 
the  Constitution  was  modified.  After  seventy-seven  years  one 
important  paragraph  was  added,  prohibiting  slavery;  and  this 
change  was  made  at  a  tremendous  cost  of  blood.  Otherwise  the 
few  amendments  have  been  insignificant  and  concerned  matters 
of  expediency  or  else,  and  more  specially,  further  formulations  of 
what,  according  to  American  conceptions,  are  the  rights  of  the  in- 


22  THE  AMERICANS 

dividual.  Although  the  original  Constitution  did  not  contain  a 
formal  proclamation  of  religious  freedom,  freedom  of  speech,  of 
the  press,  and  of  public  assemblage,  this  was  not  because  those 
who  signed  the  document  did  not  believe  in  these  things,  but  be- 
cause they  had  not  aimed  to  make  of  the  Constitution  of  the  Union 
either  a  treatise  on  ethics  or  yet  a  book  of  law.  But  as  early  as 
1789  the  states  insisted  that  all  the  rights  of  the  individual,  as 
endorsed  by  the  national  ideals,  should  be  incorporated  in  the 
articles  of  this  document.  In  the  year  1870  one  more  tardy 
straggler  was  added  to  the  list  of  human  rights,  the  last  amend- 
ment; the  right  of  the  citizens  to  vote  was  not  to  be  abridged  on 
account  of  race,  colour,  or  previous  condition  of  servitude. 

Of  the  other  amendments,  the  tenth  had  been  tacitly  assumed 
from  the  first  year  of  the  Republic;  this  was  that  "The  powers 
not  delegated  to  the  United  States  by  the  Constitution,  nor  pro- 
hibited by  it  to  the  States,  are  reserved  to  the  States  respectively, 
or  to  the  people."  This  principle  also  was  surely  in  no  way  at 
variance  with  the  spirit  of  the  original  document.  It  was,  indeed, 
the  lever  that  ensured  the  great  efficacy  of  the  Constitution,  so  that 
by  its  provisions  the  centrifugal  forces  were  never  disturbed  by 
centripetal  ones;  an  equilibrium  was  effected  between  the  ten- 
dencies that  made  for  unity  and  those  that  made  against  it,  in 
such  a  way  that  the  highest  efficiency  was  ensured  to  the  whole 
while  the  fullest  encouragement  was  given  to  the  enterprise  and 
initiative  of  the  parts.  In  no  direction,  probably,  would  an  im- 
provement have  been  possible.  More  authority  concentrated  at 
the  head  would  have  impeded  general  activity,  and  less  would 
have  lost  the  advantages  of  concerted  action;  in  neither  case 
would  material  growth  or  the  reconciliation  of  conflicting  opinions 
have  been  possible.  Constant  compensation  of  old  forces  and 
the  quickening  of  new  ones  were  the  secret  of  this  documented 
power,  and  yet  it  was  only  the  complete  expression  of  the  spirit 
of  self-direction,  which  demands  unremittingly  that  the  nation  as 
a  whole  shall  conduct  itself  without  encroaching  on  the  freedom 
of  the  individual,  and  that  the  individual  shall  be  free  to  go  his 
own  ways  without  interfering  with  the  unfettered  policy  of  the 
nation. 

Under  the  auspices  of  this  Constitution  the  country  waxed  and 
throve.  As  early  as  1803  its  land  area  was  doubled  by  the  acces- 


SELF-DIRECTION  23 

sion  of  Louisiana,  which  had  been  ceded  by  Spain  to  France,  and 
was  now  purchased  from  Napoleon  for  fifteen  million  dollars  —  an 
event  of  such  far-reaching  importance  that  the  people  of  St.  Louis 
have  not  inappropriately  invited  the  nations  of  the  earth  to  par- 
ticipate in  a  Louisiana  Purchase  Exposition.  In  1845  Texas  was 
taken  into  the  Union,  it  having  broken  away  from  Mexico  just 
previously  and  constituted  itself  an  independent  state.  The  large 
region  on  the  Pacific  slope  known  as  Oregon  came  in  1846  to  the 
United  States  by  treaty  with  England,  and  when  finally,  in  1847, 
after  the  war  with  Mexico,  New  Mexico  and  California  became 
the  spoils  of  the  victor  and  in  1867  Russia  relinquished  Alaska, 
the  domain  of  the  country  was  found  to  have  grown  from  its 
original  size  of  324,000  square  miles  to  one  of  3,600,000.  The 
thirteen  states  had  become  forty-five,  since  the  newly  acquired 
lands  had  to  be  divided.  But  all  this  growth  brought  no  alteration 
in  the  Constitution,  whose  spirit  of  self-direction,  rather,  had  led 
to  this  magnificent  development,  had  fortified  and  secured  the 
country,  and  inspired  it  with  energy  and  contentment.  The 
population  also  has  grown  under  this  benevolent  Constitution. 
Millions  have  flocked  hither  to  seek  and  to  find  prosperity  on  this 
new  and  inexhaustible  soil.  The  area  has  increased  ten-fold,  but 
the  population  twenty-fold;  and  the  new-comers  have  been  dis- 
ciplined in  the  school  of  self-direction  and  educated  to  the  spirit 
of  American  citizenship. 


There  is  a  certain  kind  of  character  which  must  be  developed 
in  this  school.  It  is  true,  of  course,  that  there  is  no  one  model 
which  just  fits  every  one,  the  native-born  Yankee  as  well  as 
the  European  immigrant,  the  farmer  as  well  as  the  resident  in 
cities.  The  Irish-American  is  not  the  German-American,  nor  is 
the  New  Englander  like  the  Virginian,  nor  the  son  of  the  East  like 
his  brother  in  the  West.  The  infinite  shadings  of  personal  char- 
acter, temperament,  and  capacity  which  nature  has  produced, 
have,  of  course,  not  been  lost.  And,  nevertheless,  just  as  the  human 
race  in  America  has  begun  to  differentiate  into  a  species  which  is 
anthropologically  distinct,  and  this  partly  under  the  influence  of  the 
climate  since  the  species  has  several  characters  in  common  with  the 
aboriginal  Indian,  so  also  in  the  moral  atmosphere  of  this  body- 


2$  THE  AMERICANS 

politic  a  distinct  type  of  human  character  is  undoubtedly  being 
evolved;  and  one  may  note  with  perpetual  surprise  how  little 
the  other  great  divisions  of  social  life,  as  of  rich  and  poor,  culti- 
vated and  ignorant,  native-born  and  immigrant,  manual  labour- 
er and  brain-worker  —  how  little  these  differentiate  the  American 
citizen  in  his  political  capacity.  Of  course  only  the  political  life 
is  in  question  here;  that  new  groupings  and  divisions  are  being 
continually  formed  in  the  economic,  intellectual,  and  social  life 
need  not  concern  us  for  the  present.  In  the  individual  it  may  not 
be  easy  to  follow  the  threads  through  the  tissue  of  his  psychic 
motions,  but  in  the  abstract  and  schematic  picture  of  the  type  it 
is  by  no  means  impossible  to  trace  them  out. 

What  is  it,  then,  which  the  American  has  gotten  from  his  train- 
ing ?  Many  and  apparently  unrelated  lessons  are  taught  in  the 
school  of  self-direction,  and  perhaps  none  of  them  are  without 
their  dangers.  For  it  is  here  not  a  matter  of  theoretical  knowl- 
edge, which  may  be  remembered  or  forgotten  and  may  be  well  or 
ill  selected,  but  which  in  itself  involves  no  scale  of  excellence  and, 
therefore,  has  no  need  to  be  tempered  or  restrained.  Theoretical 
knowledge  cannot  be  overdone  or  exaggerated  into  untruth.  But 
the  practical  conduct  which  is  here  in  question  is  different;  it  in- 
volves an  ideal,  and  in  such  a  way  that  a  man  may  not  only  mis- 
apprehend or  forget  what  is  the  best  course  of  action,  but  also  he 
may  err  in  following  it,  he  may  give  it  undue  place  and  so  neglect 
opposing  motives  which  in  their  place  are  no  less  requisite.  In 
short,  conduct,  unlike  knowledge,  demands  a  fine  tact  and  un- 
flagging discernment  for  the  fitness  of  things.  In  this  sense  it  can- 
not be  denied  that  the  teaching  of  American  democracy  is  itself 
the  source  of  serious  errors,  and  that  the  typical  American  citizen 
is  by  no  means  free  from  the  failings  of  his  virtues.  His  funda- 
mental traits  may  be  briefly  sketched,  and  from  the  excellencies 
which  he  strives  for  many  of  his  defects  can  be  understood. 

There  is,  firstly,  a  group  of  closely  related  impulses,  which  springs 
from  the  American's  unbounded  belief  in  his  own  strength,  a  trait 
which  in  the  last  analysis  must  be,  of  course,  the  foundation-stone 
of  any  doctrine  of  self-direction.  He  will  not  wait  for  others  to 
look  out  for  him,  counsel  him,  or  take  cognizance  of  his  interests, 
but  relies  wholly  on  his  own  judgment  and  his  own  strength,  and 
believes  no  goal  too  high  for  his  exertions  to  attain.  Every  true 


SELF-DIRECTION  25 

American  will  have  found  in  himself  some  trace  of  this  spirit. 
Each  day  of  his  life  has  suggested  it  to  him,  and  all  the  institutions 
of  his  country  have  reinforced  the  teaching.  Its  most  immediate 
result  is  such  a  strength  of  initiative  as  no  other  people  on  earth 
possesses,  an  optimism,  a  self-reliance  and  feeling  of  security 
which  contribute  more  than  half  to  his  success.  Faint  heart  is  not 
in  the  American's  dictionary.  Individual,  corporation,  or  coun- 
try may  be  undecided,  and  dispute  whether  a  certain  end  is  desir- 
able or  whether  a  certain  means  is  best  to  a  given  end,  but  no  one 
ever  doubts  or  goes  into  his  work  with  misgivings  lest  his  strength 
be  not  enough  to  traverse  the  road  and  reach  the  goal.  And  such 
an  attitude  encourages  every  man  to  exert  himself  to  the  utmost. 
The  spirit  of  self-direction  is  here  closely  allied  with  that  self- 
initiative  which  is  the  mainspring  of  the  economic  life  of  America. 
But  the  initiative  and  optimistic  resolution  shown  in  the  political 
arena  astonish  the  stranger  more  than  the  same  traits  displayed 
in  the  economic  field.  It  is  shown  in  the  readiness  for  argument, 
in  which  every  one  can  express  himself  accurately  and  effectively; 
in  the  indefatigable  demand  that  every  public  office  shall  be 
open  to  the  humblest  incumbent,  and  in  the  cool  assurance 
with  which  thousands  and  thousands  of  persons,  without  any 
technical  knowledge  or  professional  training,  assume  the  most 
exacting  political  offices,  and  become  postmasters,  mayors, 
ministers  and  ambassadors,  without  even  pausing  before  their 
grave  responsibilities.  But  most  of  all,  American  initiative  is 
shown  in  the  structure  of  all  her  institutions,  great  or  small,  which 
minimizes  transitions  and  degrees  between  higher  and  lower,  and 
so  facilitates  the  steady  advance  of  the  individual.  Each  and  all 
must  have  the  chance  to  unfold  and  there  must  be  no  obstacles  to 
hinder  the  right  ambition  from  its  utmost  realization.  Every  im- 
pulse must  be  utilized;  and  however  far  toward  the  periphery  a 
man  may  be  born  he  must  have  the  right  of  pressing  forward  to 
the  centre.  The  strength  of  this  nation  lies  at  the  periphery,  and 
the  American  government  would  never  have  advanced  so  unerr- 
ingly from  success  to  success  if  every  village  stable-lad  and  city 
messenger-boy  had  not  known  with  pride  that  it  depends  only  on 
himself  if  he  is  not  to  become  President  of  the  United  States. 

But  the  transition  is  easy  and  not  well  marked  from  such 
strength  to  a  deplorable  weakness.     The  spirit  of  initiative  and 


26  THE  AMERICANS 

optimism  is  in  danger  of  becoming  inexcusable  arrogance  as  to 
one's  abilities  and  sad  underestimation  of  the  value  of  professional 
training.  Dilettanteism  is  generally  well-meaning,  often  success- 
ful, and  sometimes  wholly  admirable;  but  it  is  always  dangerous. 
When  brawny  young  factory-hands  sit  on  a  school  committee, 
sturdy  tradesmen  assume  direction  of  a  municipal  postal  service, 
bankers  become  speakers  in  legislature,  and  journalists  shift  over 
to  be  cabinet  ministers,  the  general  citizen  may  sometimes  find 
cold  comfort  in  knowing  that  the  public  service  is  not  roped  off 
from  private  life,  nor  like  to  become  effete  through  stale  traditions. 
It  is  very  evident  that  America  is  to-day  making  a  great  effort  to 
ward  off  the  evils  of  amateurish  incompetence  and  give  more  prom- 
inence to  the  man  of  special  training.  And  yet  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  very  noticeably  in  the  intellectual  make-up  of  the  American 
his  free  initiative  and  easy  optimism  are  combined  with  a  readiness 
to  overestimate  his  own  powers  and  with  a  bias  for  dilettanteism. 

Another  psychological  outcome  of  this  individualism  seems  in- 
evitable. When  every  member  of  a  nation  feels  called  on  to 
pass  judgment  on  all  subjects  for  himself,  it  will  come  about 
that  public  opinion  reaches  an  uncommonly  high  mean  level,  but 
it  will  also  happen  that  the  greatest  intellects  are  not  recognized 
as  being  above  this  mean.  The  genius,  who  in  his  day  is  always 
incomprehensible  to  the  masses,  goes  to  waste;  and  the  man  who 
sees  beyond  the  vulgar  horizon  fights  an  uphill  battle.  The  glit- 
tering successes  are  for  the  man  whose  doings  impress  the  multi- 
tude, and  this  fact  is  necessarily  reflected  in  the  mind  of  the  aspir- 
ant, who  unconsciously  shapes  his  ambitions  to  the  taste  of  the 
many  rather  than  of  the  best.  Wherever  the  spirit  of  initiative 
possesses  all  alike,  a  truly  great  individual  is  of  course  insufferable ; 
any  great  advance  must  be  a  collective  movement,  and  the  best 
energies  of  the  country  must  be  futilely  expended  in  budging  the 
masses.  It  is  no  accident  that  America  has  still  produced  no  great 
world  genius.  And  this  is  the  other  side  of  the  vaunted  and  truth- 
ful assertion,  that  whenever  in  a  New  England  town  a  question  is 
brought  to  an  open  debate,  the  number  of  those  who  will  take  a 
lively,  earnest,  orderly,  and  intelligent  part  in  the  discussion  is 
perhaps  greater  in  proportion  to  the  total  number  of  inhabitants 
than  in  any  place  in  Europe. 

This  leads  us  to  a  second  consequence  of  the  desire  for  self- 


SELF-DIRECTION  27 

direction.  It  stimulates  not  only  initiative  and  self-reliance,  but 
also  the  consciousness  of  duty.  If  a  man  earnestly  believes  that 
the  subject  must  also  be  potentate,  he  will  not  try  to  put  off  his 
responsibilities  on  any  one  else  but  will  forthwith  set  himself  to 
work,  and  prescribe  as  well  his  own  due  restrictions.  If  a  neigh- 
bourhood or  club,  town,  city,  or  state,  or  yet  the  whole  federation 
sees  before  it  some  duty,  the  American  will  not  be  found  waiting 
for  a  higher  authority  to  stir  him  up,  for  he  is  himself  that  author- 
ity; his  vote  it  is  which  determines  all  who  are  to  figure  in  the  affair. 
Wherefore  he  is  constrained  by  the  whole  system  to  an  earnest  and 
untiring  co-operation  in  everything.  This  is  not  the  superficial 
politics  of  the  ale-house,  with  its  irresponsible  bandying  of  yeas  and 
nays.  When  Secretary  of  the  Navy  under  McKinley,  Mr.  Long  said 
that  when  the  cabinet  at  Washington  was  in  conference,  every  mem- 
ber was  of  course  better  posted  on  the  matter  than  the  average  citi- 
zen; but  that  nevertheless  a  dozen  villagers,  say  in  northern  Maine, 
would  read  their  New  York  and  Boston  papers  and  talk  over  the 
affairs  with  as  much  intelligence  and  as  good  a  comprehension  of'the 
points  at  issue  as  would  appear  at  any  cabinet  debates.  This  was 
by  no  means  meant  as  a  reflection  on  his  colleagues  of  the  cabinet, 
but  as  a  frank  recognition  of  an  aspect  of  American  life  which  in- 
variably surprises  the  foreigner.  One  needs  only  to  recall  the  dis- 
cussion which  preceded  the  last  presidential  election,  and  more 
especially  the  one  preceding  that;  the  silver  question  was  the  great 
issue,  and  evening  after  evening  hundreds  of  thousands  listened 
to  technical  arguments  in  finance  such  as  no  European  orator  could 
hope  to  lay  before  a  popular  assembly.  Huge  audiences  followed 
with  rapt  attention  for  hours  lectures  on  the  most  difficult  points 
of  international  monetary  standards.  And  this  intellectual  seri- 
ousness springs  from  the  feeling  of  personal  responsibility  which 
is  everywhere  present.  The  European  is  always  astonished  at  the 
exemplary  demeanour  of  an  American  crowd;  how  on  public  oc- 
casions great  multitudes  of  men  and  women  regulate  their  move- 
ments without  any  noticeable  interference  by  the  police,  how  the 
great  transportation  companies  operate  with  almost  no  surveil- 
lance of  the  public,  trusting  each  person  to  do  his  part,  and  how 
in  general  the  whole  social  structure  is  based  on  mutual  confidence 
to  a  degree  which  is  nowhere  the  case  in  Europe.  The  feeling 
that  the  ruler  and  the  ruled  are  one  pervades  all  activities,  and  its 


28  THE  AMERICANS 

consequences  are  felt  far  beyond  the  political  realm.  Especially 
in  the  social  sphere  it  makes  for  self-respect  among  the  lower 
classes;  they  adapt  themselves  readily  to  discipline,  for  at  the 
same  time  they  feel  themselves  to  be  the  masters;  and  the  dignity 
of  their  position  is  the  best  security  for  their  good  behaviour. 

But  here,  too,  excellence  has  its  defects.  Where  every  one  is  so 
intensely  aware  of  an  identity  between  political  authority  and  po- 
litical subject,  it  is  hard  for  the  feeling  of  respect  for  any  person 
whatsoever  to  find  root.  The  feeling  of  equality  will  crop  out 
where  nature  designed  none,  as  for  instance  between  youth  and 
mature  years.  A  certain  lack  of  respect  appears  in  the  family  and 
goes  unpunished  because  superficially  it  corresponds  to  the  polit- 
ical system  of  the  land.  Parents  even  make  it  a  principle  to  im- 
plore and  persuade  their  children,  holding  it  to  be  a  mistake  to 
compel  or  punish  them;  and  they  believe  that  the  schools  should 
be  conducted  in  the  same  spirit.  And  thus  young  men  and  women 
grow  up  without  experiencing  the  advantages  of  outer  constraint 
or  discipline. 

Hitherto  we  have  considered  only  those  intellectual  factors  de- 
rived from  the  spirit  of  self-direction  which  bear  on  the  will  of  the 
individual,  his  rights  and  duties;  but  these  factors  are  closely 
bound  up  with  the  others  which  concern  the  rights  and  privileges 
of  one's  neighbour.  We  may  sketch  these  briefly.  Deeply  as  he 
feels  his  own  rights,  the  American  is  not  less  conscious  of  those  of 
his  neighbour.  He  does  not  forget  that  his  neighbour  may  not 
be  molested  and  must  have  every  opportunity  for  development  and 
the  pursuit  of  his  ambitions,  and  this  without  scrutiny  or  super- 
vision. He  recognizes  the  other's  equal  voice  and  influence  in 
public  affairs,  his  equally  sincere  sense  of  duty  and  fidelity  to  it. 
This  altruism  expresses  itself  variously  in  practical  life.  Firstly, 
in  a  complete  subordination  to  the  majority.  In  America  the 
dissenting  minority  displays  remarkable  discipline,  and  if  the 
majority  has  formally  taken  action,  one  hears  no  grumbling  or 
quibbling  from  the  discontented,  whether  among  boys  at  play  or 
men  who  have  everything  at  stake.  The  outvoiced  minority  is 
self-controlled  and  good-natured  and  ready  at  once  to  take  part 
in  the  work  which  the  majority  has  laid  out;  and  herein  lies  one  of 
the  clearest  results  of  the  American  system  and  one  of  the  superior 
traits  of  American  character. 


SELF-DIRECTION  29 

Closely  related  to  this  is  another  trait  which  lends  to  American 
life  much  of  its  intrinsic  worth  —  the  unconditional  insistence  in 
any  competition  on  equal  rights  for  both  sides.  The  demand  for 
"fair  play"  dominates  the  whole  American  people,  and  shapes 
public  opinion  in  all  matters  whether  large  or  small.  And  with 
this,  finally,  goes  the  belief  in  the  self-respect  and  integrity  of  one's 
neighbour.  The  American  cannot  understand  how  Europeans 
so  often  reinforce  their  statements  with  explicit  mention  of  their 
honour  which  is  at  stake,  as  if  the  hearer  is  likely  to  feel  a  doubt 
about  it;  and  even  American  children  are  often  apt  to  wonder  at 
young  people  abroad  who  quarrel  at  play  and  at  once  suspect  one 
another  of  some  unfairness.  The  American  system  does  not  wait 
for  years  of  discretion  to  come  before  exerting  its  influence;  it 
makes  itself  felt  in  the  nursery,  where  already  the  word  of  one 
child  is  never  doubted  by  his  playmates. 

Here  too,  however,  the  brightest  light  will  cast  a  shadow. 
Every  intelligent  American  is  somewhat  sadly  aware  that  the  vote 
of  a  majority  is  no  solution  of  a  problem,  and  he  realizes  oftener 
than  he  will  admit  that  faith  in  the  majority  is  pure  nonsense  if 
theoretical  principles  are  at  issue.  This  is  a  system  which  com- 
pels him  always  where  a  genius  is  required  to  substitute  a  com- 
mittee, and  to  abide  by  the  majority  vote.  The  very  theory  of 
unlimited  opportunity  has  its  obvious  dangers  arising,  here  as 
everywhere,  from  extremes  of  feeling  and  so  exaggeration  of  the 
principle.  The  recognition  of  another's  rights  leads  naturally  to 
a  sympathy  for  the  weaker,  which  is  as  often  as  not  unjustified, 
and  easily  runs  over  into  sentimentalism,  not  to  say  an  actual 
hysteria  of  solicitude.  And  this  is  in  fact  a  phase  of  public  opin- 
ion which  stands  in  striking  contrast  to  the  exuberant  health  of 
the  nation.  What  is  even  worse,  the  ever-sensitive  desire  not  to 
interfere  in  another's  rights  leads  to  the  shutting  of  one's  eyes  and 
letting  the  other  do  what  he  likes,  even  if  it  is  unjust.  And  in  this 
way  a  situation  is  created  which  encourages  the  unscrupulous  and 
rewards  rascality. 

For  a  long  time  the  blackest  spot  on  American  life,  specially  in 
the  opinion  of  German  critics,  has  been  the  corruption  in  muni- 
cipal and  other  politics.  We  need  not  now  review  the  facts.  It 
is  enough  to  point  out  that  a  comparison  with  conditions  in  Ger- 
many, say,  is  entirely  misleading  if  it  is  supposed  to  yield  conclu- 


3o  THE  AMERICANS 

sions  as  to  the  moral  character  of  the  American  people.  Un- 
scrupulous persons  who  are  keen  for  plunder,  are  to  be  found 
everywhere;  merely  the  conditions  under  which  the  German  pub- 
lic service  has  developed  and  now  maintains  itself  make  it  almost 
impossible  for  a  reprobate  of  that  sort  to  force  his  entrance.  And 
if  a  German  official  were  discovered  in  dishonest  practices  it  would 
be,  in  fact,  discrediting  to  the  people.  In  America  the  situation 
is  almost  reversed.  The  conditions  on  which,  according  to  the 
American  system,  the  lesser  officials  secure  their  positions,  special- 
ly in  municipal  governments,  and  the  many  chances  of  enriching 
oneself  unlawfully  and  yet  without  liability  to  arrest,  while  the 
regular  remuneration  and  above  all  the  social  dignity  of  the  posi- 
tions are  relatively  small,  drive  away  the  better  elements  of  the 
population  and  draw  on  the  inferior.  The  charge  against  the 
Americans,  then,  should  not  be  that  they  make  dishonest  officials, 
but  that  they  permit  a  system  which  allows  dishonest  persons  to 
become  officials.  This  is  truly  a  serious  reproach,  yet  it  is  not  a 
charge  of  contemptible  dishonesty  but  of  inexcusable  complacency; 
and  this  springs  from  the  national  weakness  of  leniency  toward 
one's  neighbour,  a  trait  which  comes  near  to  being  a  fundamental 
democratic  virtue.  It  cannot  be  denied,  moreover,  that  the  whole 
nation  is  earnestly  and  successfully  working  to  overcome  this 
difficulty. 

The  denunciations  of  the  daily  papers,  however,  must  not  be 
taken  as  an  indication  of  this,  for  the  uncurbed  American  press 
makes  the  merest  unfounded  suspicion  an  occasion  for  sensational 
accusations.  Any  one  who  has  compared  in  recent  years  the 
records  of  unquestionably  impartial  judicial  processes  with  the 
charges  which  had  previously  been  made  in  the  papers,  must  be 
very  sceptical  as  to  the  hue  and  cry  of  corruption.  Even  muni- 
cipal politics  are  much  better  than  they  are  painted.  The  easiest 
way  of  overcoming  every  evil  would  be  to  remove  the  public  ser- 
vice from  popular  and  party  influences,  but  this  is,  of  course,  not 
feasible  since  it  would  endanger  the  most  cherished  prerogatives 
of  individualism.  Besides,  the  American  is  comforted  about  his 
situation  because  he  knows  that  just  this  direct  efficiency  of  the 
people's  will  is  the  surest  means  of  thoroughly  uprooting  the  evil 
as  soon  as  it  becomes  really  threatening.  He  may  be  patient  or 
indifferent  too  long,  but  if  he  is  once  aroused  he  finds  in  his 


SELF-DIRECTION  31 

system  a  strong  and  ready  instrument  for  suddenly  overturning 
an  administration  and  putting  another  in  its  stead.  Moreover,  if 
corruption  becomes  too  unblushing  an  "educational  campaign" 
is  always  in  order.  James  Bryce,  who  is  of  all  Europeans  the  one 
most  thoroughly  acquainted  with  American  party  politics,  gives  his 
opinion,  that  the  great  mass  of  civil  officials  in  the  United  States  is 
no  more  corrupt  than  that  of  England  or  Germany.  An  Ameri- 
can would  add,  however,  that  they  excel  their  European  rivals 
in  a  better  disposition  and  greater  readiness  to  be  of  service. 

But  the  situation  is  complicated  by  still  another  tendency  which 
makes  the  fight  for  clean  and  disinterested  politics  difficult.  The 
spirit  of  self-direction  involves  a  political  philosophy  which  is 
based  on  the  individual;  and  the  whole  commonwealth  has  no 
other  meaning  than  an  adding  up  of  the  rights  of  separate  indi- 
viduals, so  that  every  proposal  must  benefit  some  individual  or 
other  if  it  is  to  commend  itself  for  adoption.  Now  since  the  state 
is  a  collection  of  numberless  individuals  and  the  law  merely  a 
pledge  between  them  all,  the  honour  of  the  state  and  the  majesty 
of  the  law  do  not  attach  to  a  well  organized  and  peculiarly  exalted 
collective  will,  which  stands  above  the  individual.  Such  a  thing 
would  seem  to  an  individualist  a  hollow  abstraction,  for  state  and 
law  consist  only  in  the  rights  and  responsibilities  of  such  as  he. 
From  this  more  or  less  explicitly  formulated  conception  of  polit- 
ical life  there  accrue  to  society  both  advantages  and  dangers. 
The  advantages  are  obvious:  the  Mephistophelian  saying,  "Ver- 
nunft  wird  Unsinn,  Wohltat  Plage,"  becomes  unthinkable,  since 
the  body-politic  is  continually  tested  and  held  in  check  by  the 
lively  interests  of  individuals.  Any  obvious  injustice  can  be 
righted,  for  above  the  common  weal  stands  the  great  army  of 
individuals  by  whom  and  for  whom  both  state  and  law  were  made. 

But  the  disadvantages  follow  as  well.  If  state  and  law  are  only 
a  mutual  restraint  agreed  on  between  individuals,  the  feeling  of 
restraint  becomes  lively  in  proportion  as  the  particular  individuals 
in  question  can  be  pointed  to,  but  vanishingly  weak  when,  in  a 
more  intangible  way,  the  abstract  totality  requires  allegiance.  So 
one  finds  the  finest  feeling  for  justice  in  cases  of  obligation  to  an 
individual,  as  in  contracts,  for  instance,  and  the  minimum  sense  of 
right  where  the  duty  is  toward  the  state.  There  is  no  country  of 
Europe  where  the  sense  of  individual  right  so  pervades  all  classes 


32  THE  AMERICANS 

of  the  inhabitants,  a  fact  which  stands  in  no  wise  contradictory  to 
the  other  prevalent  tendency  of  esteeming  too  lightly  one's  right- 
eous obligations  to  city  or  state.  Men  who,  in  the  interests  of 
their  corporations,  try  to  influence  in  irregular  ways  the  profession- 
al politicians  in  the  legislatures,  observe  nevertheless  in  private 
life  the  most  rigid  principles  of  right;  and  many  a  one  who  could 
safely  be  trusted  by  the  widows  and  orphans  of  his  city  with  every 
cent  which  they  own,  would  still  be  very  apt  to  make  a  false 
declaration  of  his  taxable  property. 

There  is  a  parallel  case  in  the  sphere  of  criminal  law.  Possibly 
even  more  than  the  abuses  of  American  municipal  politics,  the 
crimes  of  lynch  courts  have  brought  down  the  condemnation  of  the 
civilized  world.  Corruption  and  "lynch  justice"  are  usually 
thought  of  as  the  two  blemishes  on  the  nation,  and  it  is  from  them 
that  the  casual  observer  in  Europe  gets  a  very  unfavourable  im- 
pression of  the  American  conception  of  justice.  We  have  already 
tried  to  rectify  this  estimate  in  so  far  as  it  includes  corruption,  and 
as  regards  lynching  it  is  perhaps  even  more  in  error.  Lynch 
violence  is  of  course  not  to  be  excused.  Crime  is  crime;  and  the 
social  psychologist  is  interested  only  in  deciding  what  rubric  to* 
put  it  under.  Now  the  entire  development  of  lynch  action  shows 
that  it  is  not  the  wanton  violence  of  men  who  have  no  sense  of 
right,  but  rather  the  frenzied  fulfillment  of  that  which  we  have 
termed  the  individualistic  conception  of  justice.  The  typical 
case  of  lynching  is  found,  of  course,  in  Southern  States  with  a  con- 
siderable negro  population.  A  negro  will  have  attempted  violence 
on  a  white  woman,  whereon  all  the  white  men  of  the  neighbour- 
hood, assuming  that  through  the  influence  of  his  fellow  negroes 
the  criminal  would  not  be  duly  convicted,  or  else  feeling  that  the 
regular  legal  penalty  would  not  suffice  to  deter  others  from  the 
same  crime,  violently  seize  the  culprit  from  out  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  law,  and  after  a  summary  popular  trial  hang  him.  But  these 
are  not  men  who  are  merely  seeking  a  victim  to  their  brutal  in- 
stinct for  murder.  It  is  reported  that  after  the  deed,  when  the 
horrid  crime  has  been  horribly  expiated,  the  participants  will 
quietly  and  almost  solemnly  shake  one  another  by  the  hand  and 
disperse  peacefully  to  their  homes,  as  if  they  had  fulfilled  a  sacred 
obligation  of  citizenship.  These  are  men  imbued  with  the  in- 
dividualistic notion  of  society,  confident  that  law  is  not  a  thing 


SELF-DIRECTION  33 

whose  validity  extends  beyond  themselves,  but  something  which 
they  have  freely  framed  and  adopted,  an.d  which  they  both  may 
and  must  annul  or  disregard  as  soon  as  the  conditions  which  made 
it  necessary  are  altered.  It  is  a  matter  of  course  that  such  pre- 
sumption is  abhorred  and  condemned  in  the  more  highly  civilized 
states  of  the  Union,  also  by  the  better  classes  in  the  Southern 
States;  and  a  lyncher  is  legally  a  murderer.  His  deed,  however, 
is  not  to  be  referred  psychologically  to  a  deficient  sense  of  justice. 
That  which  is  the  foundation  of  this  sense,  resentment  at  an  in- 
fringement of  the  individual's  rights  and  belief  in  the  connection 
between  sin  and  expiation,  are  all  too  vividly  realized  in  his  soul. 

We  have  dwelt  on  these  two  offshoots  of  the  individualistic  idea 
of  law  because  they  have  been  used  constantly  to  distort  the  true 
picture  of  American  character.  Rightly  understood,  psychologi- 
cally, these  phenomena  are  seen  to  be  black  and  ugly  incidents, 
which  have  little  to  do  with  the  national  consciousness  of  right  and 
honour;  they  are  the  regrettable  accompaniments  of  an  extreme 
individualism,  which  in  its  turn,  to  be  sure,  grows  naturally  out  of 
the  doctrine  of  self-direction.  Every  American  knows  that  it  is 
one  of  the  most  sacred  duties  of  the  land  to  fight  against  these 
abuses,  and  yet  the  foreigner  should  not  be  deceived  into  thinking, 
because  so  and  so  many  negroes  are  informally  disposed  of  each 
year,  and  the  politicians  of  Philadelphia  or  Chicago  continue  to 
stuff  their  pockets  with  spoils  in  ways  which  are  legally  unpun- 
ishable, that  the  American  is  not  thoroughly  informed  with  a  re- 
spect for  law.  He  has  not  taken  his  instruction  in  the  system  of 
self-direction  in  vain.  And  the  German  who  estimates  the  tone 
of  political  life  in  America  by  the  corruption  and  lynch  violence 
narrated  in  the  daily  papers,  is  like  the  American  who  makes  up 
his  opinion  of  the  German  army,  as  he  sometimes  does,  from  the 
harangues  of  social  democrats  on  the  abuses  of  military  officers,  or 
from  sensational  disclosures  of  small  garrisons  on  the  frontier. 

One  more  trait  must  be  mentioned,  finally,  which  is  character- 
istic of  every  individualistic  community,  and  which,  having  been 
impressed  on  the  individual  by  the  American  system,  has  now  re- 
acted and  contributed  much  to  the  working  out  of  this  system. 
The  American  possesses  an  astonishing  gift  for  rapid  organiza- 
tion. His  highest  talents  are  primarily  along  this  line,  and  in  the 
same  way  every  individual  has  an  instinct  for  stationing  himself 


34  THE  AMERICANS 

at  the  right  place  in  any  organization.  This  is  true  both  high  and 
low,  and  can  be  observed  on  every  occasion,  whether  in  the  con- 
ceited action  of  labouring  men,  in  a  street  accident,  or  in  any  sort 
of  popular  demonstration.  For  instance,  one  has  only  to  notice 
how  quickly  and  naturally  the  public  forms  in  orderly  procession 
before  a  ticket-office.  This  sure  instinct  for  organization,  which 
is  such  an  admirable  complement  to  the  spirit  of  initiative,  gives 
to  the  American  workman  his  superiority  over  the  European, 
for  it  is  lamentably  lacking  in  the  latter,  and  can  be  replaced  only 
by  the  strictest  discipline.  But  this  instinct  finds  its  fullest  ex- 
pression in  the  political  sphere.  It  is  this  which  creates  parties, 
guarantees  the  efficiency  of  legislatures,  preserves  the  discipline 
of  the  state,  and  is  in  general  the  most  striking  manifestation  of  the 
spirit  of  self-direction.  But  we  have  seen  that  none  of  the  merits 
of  this  system  are  quite  without  their  drawbacks,  and  this  gift  for 
organization  has  also  its  dangers.  The  political  parties  which  it 
fosters  may  become  political  "machines,"  and  the  party  leader  a 
"boss"  —  but  here  we  are  already  in  the  midst  of  those  political 
institutions  with  which  we  must  deal  more  in  detail. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

Political  Parties 

THE  Presidency  is  the  highest  peak  in  the  diversified  range  of 
political  institutions,  and  may  well  be  the  first  to  occupy  our 
attention.  But  this  chief  executive  office  may  be  looked  at  in 
several  relations:  firstly,  it  is  one  of  the  three  divisions  of  the  Gov- 
ernment, which  are  the  executive,  the  legislative,  and  the  judicial. 
And  these  might  well  be  considered  in  this  order.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  President  stands  at  the  head  of  the  federation  of 
states;  and  the  structural  beauty  of  the  American  political  edifice 
consists  in  the  repetition  of  the  whole  in  each  part  and  of  the  part 
in  every  smaller  part,  and  so  on  down.  The  top  governmental  strat- 
um of  the  federation  is  repeated  on  a  smaller  scale  at  the  head  of 
each  of  the  forty-five  states,  and  again,  still  smaller,  over  every  city. 
The  governor  of  a  state  has  in  narrower  limits  the  functions  of  the 
President,  and  so,  within  still  narrower,  has  the  mayor  of  a  city. 
We  might,  then,  consider  the  highest  office,  and  after  that  its 
smaller  counterparts  in  the  order  of  their  importance. 

But  neither  of  these  methods  of  treatment  would  bring  out  the 
most  important  connection.  It  is  possible  to  understand  the 
President  apart  from  the  miniature  presidents  of  the  separate 
states,  or  apart  from  the  Supreme  Court,  or  even  Congress,  but  it 
is  not  possible  to  understand  the  President  without  taking  account 
of  the  political  parties.  It  is  the  party  which  selects  its  candidate, 
elects  him  to  office,  and  expects  from  him  in  return  party  support 
and  party  politics.  The  same  is  true,  moreover,  of  elections  to 
Congress  and  to  the  state  legislatures.  For  here  again  the  party 
is  the  background  to  which  everything  is  naturally  referred,  and 
any  description  of  the  President,  or  Congress,  or  the  courts,  which, 
like  the  original  Constitution,  makes  no  mention  of  the  parties, 
appears  to  us  to-day  as  lacking  in  plastic  reality,  in  historical  per- 


36  THE  AMERICANS 

spective.  We  shall,  therefore,  attempt  no  such  artificial  analysis, 
but  rather  describe  together  the  constitutional  government  and  the 
inofficial  party  formations.  They  imply  and  explain  each  other. 
Then  on  this  background  of  party  activities  we  can  view  more 
comprehensively  the  President,  Congress,  the  Supreme  Court,  and 
the  entire  politics  of  the  federation  and  the  states. 

We  must  not  forget,  however,  that  in  separating  any  of  these 
factors  from  the  rest,  we  deal  at  once  with  highly  artificial  abstrac- 
tions, so  that  this  description  will  have  continually  to  neglect  many 
facts  and  cut  the  threads  that  cross  its  path.  The  history  of  the 
American  Presidency  shows  at  all  times  its  close  connection  with 
other  institutions.  A  treaty  or  even  a  nomination  by  the  Presi- 
dent requires  the  ratification  of  the  Senate  before  it  is  valid;  and 
on  the  other  side,  the  President  can  veto  any  bill  of  Congress. 
Even  the  Supreme  Court  and  the  President  can  hardly  be  con- 
sidered apart,  as  was  seen,  for  instance,  in  the  time  of  Cleveland, 
when  his  fiscal  policy  took  final  shape  in  an  income  tax  which  the 
Supreme  Court  declared  unconstitutional,  and  therefore  unlawful; 
or  again  when  the  colonial  policy  of  McKinley  was  upheld  and 
validated  by  a  decision  of  the  same  court.  Again,  the  party  poli- 
tics of  state  and  town  are  no  less  intimately  related  to  the  federal 
government  and  the  Presidency.  Here,  too,  the  leadings  are  in 
both  directions;  local  politics  condition  the  national,  and  these  in 
turn  dominate  the  local.  Cleveland  was  a  man  who  had  never 
played  a  part  in  national  politics  until  he  became  the  executive 
head  of  the  nation.  As  Mayor  of  Buffalo  he  had  been  so  con- 
spicuous throughout  the  State  of  New  York  as  to  be  elected  Gov- 
ernor of  that  state,  and  then  in  the  state  politics  so  won  the  con- 
fidence of  his  party  as  to  be  nominated  and  elected  to  the  highest 
national  office.  McKinley,  on  the  other  hand,  although  he,  too, 
had  been  the  Governor  of  a  state,  nevertheless  gained  the  confi- 
dence of  his  party  during  his  long  term  of  service  in  Congress. 

Similarly  it  may  be  said  that  local  politics  are  the  natural  path 
which  leads  to  any  national  position,  whether  that  of  senator  or 
representative.  And  inversely  the  great  federal  problems  play  an 
often  decisive  role  in  the  politics  of  the  states  with  which  they 
strictly  have  no  connection.  Federal  party  lines  divide  legisla- 
tures from  the  largest  to  the  smallest,  and  even  figure  in  the  muni- 
cipal elections.  Unreasonable  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  a  fact  that  the 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  37 

great  national  questions,  such  as  expansion,  free  trade,  and  the 
gold  standard,  divide  the  voters  of  a  small  village  into  opposing 
groups  when  they  have  to  elect  merely  some  one  to  the  police  or 
street-cleaning  department.  It  is,  therefore,  never  a  question  of 
a  mechanical  co-ordination  and  independence  of  parts,  but  of  an 
organic  interdependence,  and  every  least  district  of  the  Union  is 
thoroughly  en  rapport  with  the  central  government  and  doings  of 
the  national  parties. 

There  are  political  parties  in  every  country,  but  none  like  the 
American  parties.  The  English  system  presents  the  nearest 
analogy,  with  its  two  great  parties,  but  the  similarity  is  merely 
superficial  and  extends  to  no  essential  points.  Even  in  the  com- 
parison between  America  and  Germany  it  is  not  the  greater  num- 
ber of  the  German  parties  that  makes  the  real  difference.  For 
the  German  his  party  is  in  the  narrower  sense  a  group  of  legisla- 
tors, or,  more  broadly,  these  legislators  together  with  the  general 
body  of  their  constituents.  The  party  has  in  a  way  concrete 
reality  only  in  the  act  of  voting  and  the  representation  in  parlia- 
ment of  certain  principles.  Of  course,  even  in  Germany  there 
exists  some  organization  between  the  multitude  of  voters  and  the 
small  group  which  they  return  to  the  Reichstag.  Party  directors, 
who  are  for  the  most  part  the  representatives  themselves,  central 
committees  and  local  directors,  local  clubs  and  assemblies  are  all 
necessary  to  stir  up  the  voters  and  to  attend  to  various  formalities 
of  the  election;  but  no  one  has  dreamt  of  a  horde  of  professional 
politicians  who  are  not  legislators,  of  party  leaders  who  are  more 
powerful  than  the  representative  to  be  elected,  or  of  parties 
which  are  stronger  than  either  the  parliament  or  the  people. 
The  American  party  is  first  of  all  a  closely  knit  organization  with 
extensive  machinery  and  rigid  discipline;  to  be  represented  in 
Congress  or  legislature  is  only  one  of  its  many  objects. 

This  situation  is,  however,  no  accident.  One  may  easily  under- 
stand the  incomparable  machinery  and  irresistible  might  of  the 
parties,  if  one  but  realizes  a  few  of  the  essential  factors  in  Ameri- 
can party  life.  First,  of  course,  comes  the  tremendous  extent  of 
the  field  in  which  the  citizens'  ballots  have  the  decision.  If  it  were 
as  it  is  in  the  German  elections  to  the  imperial  diet,  the  Amer- 
ican party  organization  would  never  have  become  what  it  is. 
But  besides  the  elections  to  Congress,  the  state  legislatures  and  local 


38  THE  AMERICANS 

assemblies,  there  is  the  direct  choice  to  be  made  for  President, 
vice-president,  governor,  the  principal  state  officials  and  deputies, 
judges  of  the  appellate  court,  mayor  and  city  officials,  and  many 
others.  The  entire  responsibility  falls  on  the  voters,  since  the 
doctrine  of  self-direction  ordains  that  only  citizens  of  the  state  shall 
vote  for  state  officials,  and  of  the  city  for  city  officers.  The  gov- 
ernor, unlike  an  "Oberprasident,"  is  not  appointed  by  the  Govern- 
ment, nor  a  mayor  by  any  authority  outside  his  city.  The  voter  is 
nowhere  to  be  politically  disburdened  of  responsibility.  But, 
with  the  direct  suffrage,  his  sphere  of  action  is  only  begun.  Al- 
most every  one  of  the  men  he  elects  has  in  turn  to  make  further 
appointments  and  choices.  The  members  of  a  state  legislature 
elect  senators  to  Congress,  and  both  governor  and  mayor  name 
many  officials,  but  most  of  all,  the  President  has  to  give  out  offices 
from  ambassadors  and  ministers  down  to  village  postmasters  and 
light-house  keepers,  in  all  of  which  there  is  ample  chance  to  put 
the  adherents  of  one's  party  in  influential  positions.  Thus  the 
functions  of  the  American  voter  are  incomparably  more  important 
and  far-reaching  than  those  of  the  German  voter. 

But  even  with  this,  the  political  duties  of  the  American  citizen 
in  connection  with  his  party  are  not  exhausted.  The  spirit  of 
self-direction  demands  the  carrying  out  of  a  principle  which  is  un- 
known to  the  German  politician.  The  choice  and  nomination 
of  a  candidate  for  election  must  be  made  by  the  same  voting  pub- 
lic; it  must  be  carried  on  by  the  same  parliamentary  methods,  and 
decided  strictly  by  a  majority  vote.  There  are  in  theory  no  com- 
mittees or  head  officials  to  relieve  the  voting  public  of  responsi- 
bility, by  themselves  benignly  apportioning  the  various  offices 
among  the  candidates.  A  party  may  propose  but  one  candidate 
for  each  office,  whereas  there  will  often  be  several  men  within  the 
party  who  wish  to  be  candidates  for  the  same  office,  as  for  instance, 
that  of  mayor,  city  counsellor,  or  treasurer.  In  every  case  the 
members  of  a  party  have  to  select  the  official  nominee  of  their 
party  by  casting  ballots,  and  thus  it  may  happen  that  the  contest 
between  groups  within  the  party  may  be  livelier  than  the  ultimate 
battle  between  the  parties. 

Now  on  a  large  scale  such  transactions  can  be  no  longer  carried 
on  directly.  All  the  citizens  of  the  state  cannot  come  together  to 
nominate  the  party  candidate  for  governor.  For  this  purpose, 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  39 

therefore,  electors  have  to  be  chosen,  every  one  by  a  strict  majority 
vote,  and  these  meet  to  fix  finally  on  the  candidates  of  the  party. 
And  when  it  comes  to  the  President  of  the  whole  country,  the  vot- 
ing public  elects  a  congress  of  electors,  and  these  in  turn  choose 
other  electors,  and  this  twice-sifted  body  of  delegates  meets  in 
national  convention  to  name  the  candidate  whom  the  party  will 
support  in  the  final,  popular  elections.  Through  such  a  strict 
programme  for  nominations  the  duties  of  the  voters  towards  their 
party  are  just  doubled,  and  it  becomes  an  art  considerably  beyond 
the  ability  of  the  average  citizen  to  move  through  this  regressive 
chain  of  elections  without  losing  his  way.  It  requires,  in  short, 
an  established  and  well  articulated  organization  to  arrange  and 
conduct  the  popular  convocations,  to  deliberate  carefully  on  the 
candidates  to  be  proposed  for  nomination,  and  to  carry  the  in- 
finitely complicated  and  yet  unavoidable  operations  through  to 
their  conclusion. 

Finally,  another  factor  enters  in,  which  is  once  more  quite  for- 
eign to  the  political  life  of  Germany.  Every  American  election  is 
strictly  local,  in  the  sense  that  the  candidate  is  invariably  chosen 
from  among  the  voters.  In  Germany,  when  a  provincial  city  is 
about  to  send  a  representative  to  the  Reichstag,  the  party  in  power 
accounts  it  a  specially  favourable  circumstance  if  the  candidates 
are  not  men  of  that  very  city,  to  suffer  the  proverbial  dishonour 
of  prophets  in  their  own  country,  and  prefers  to  see  on  the  ballot 
the  names  of  great  party  leaders  from  some  other  part  of  the  em- 
pire. And  when  Berlin,  for  example,  selects  a  mayor,  the  city  is 
glad  to  call  him  from  Breslau  or  Konigsberg.  This  is  inconceiv- 
able to  the  American.  It  is  a  corollary  to  the  doctrine  of  self- 
determination  that  whenever  a  political  district,  whether  village  or 
city,  selects  a  representative,  the  citizens  shall  not  only  nominate 
and  elect  their  candidate,  but  that  they  shall  also  choose  him  from 
their  own  midst.  But  this  makes  it  at  once  necessary  for  the 
party  to  have  its  organized  branches  in  every  nook  and  corner  of 
the  country.  A  single  central  organization  graciously  to  provide 
candidates  for  the  whole  land  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  The  party 
organization  must  be  everywhere  efficient,  and  quick  to  select  and 
weigh  for  the  purposes  of  the  party  such  material  as  is  at  hand. 
It  is  obvious  that  this  is  a  very  intricate  and  exacting  task,  and  that 
if  the  organization  were  sentimental,  loose,  or  undisciplined,  it 


4.0  THE  AMERICANS 

would  go  to  pieces  by  reason  of  the  personal  and  other  opposing 
interests  which  exist  within  it.  And  if  it  were  less  widely  branched 
or  less  machine-like  in  its  intricate  workings,  it  would  not  be  able 
to  do  its  daily  work,  pick  candidates  for  posts  of  responsibility, 
nominate  electors,  and  elect  its  nominees;  and  eventually  it  would 
sink  out  of  sight.  The  American  political  party  is  thus  an  essen- 
tially complete  and  independent  organization. 

Two  evils  are  necessarily  occasioned  by  this  invulnerable  or- 
ganization of  party  activities,  both  of  which  are  peculiar  and  of 
such  undoubtedly  bad  consequences  as  to  strike  the  most  super- 
ficial observer,  and  specially  the  foreigner;  and  yet  both  of  which 
on  closer  view  are  seen  to  be  much  less  serious  than  one  might  have 
supposed  at  first.  After  a  party  has  grown  up  and  become  well 
organized  in  its  purpose  of  representing  these  or  those  political 
principles  and  of  defending  and  propagating  them,  it  may  at 
length  cease  to  be  only  the  means  to  an  end,  and  become  an  end 
unto  itself.  There  is  the  danger  that  it  will  come  to  look  on  its 
duties  as  being  nothing  else  than  to  keep  itself  in  power,  even  by 
denying  or  opposing  the  principles  with  which  it  has  grown  up. 
Moreover,  such  an  organization  exacts  a  colossal  amount  of  labour 
which  must  be  rewarded  in  some  form  or  other;  and  so  it  will  find 
it  expedient,  quite  apart  from  the  political  ideals  of  the  party,  to 
exert  its  influence  in  the  patronage  of  state  and  other  offices.  The 
result  is  that  the  rewards  and  honours  conferred  necessarily  draw 
men  into  the  service  of  the  party  who  care  less  for  its  ideals  than 
for  the  emoluments  they  are  to  derive.  And  thus  two  evils  spring 
up  together;  firstly,  the  parties  lose  their  principles,  and,  secondly, 
take  into  their  service  professional  politicians  who  have  no  prin- 
ciples to  lose.  We  must  consider  both  matters  more  in  detail,  the 
party  ideals  and  the  politicians. 

America  has  two  great  parties,  the  Republican,  which  is  just 
now  in  power,  and  the  Democratic.  Other  parties,  as,  for  instance, 
the  Populist,  are  small,  and  while  they  may  for  a  while  secure  a 
meagre  representation  in  Congress,  they  are  too  insignificant  to 
have  any  chance  of  success  in  the  presidential  elections:  although, 
to  be  sure,  this  does  not  prevent  various  groups  of  over-enthusias- 
tic persons  from  seizing  the  politically  unfitting  and  impracticable 
occasion  to  set  up  their  own  presidential  candidate  as  a  sort  of 
figure-head.  Any  political  amateur,  who  finds  no  place  in  the 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  4.1 

official  parties,  may  gather  a  few  friends  under  his  banner  and 
start  a  new,  independent  party;  but  the  bubble  bursts  in  a  few 
days.  And  even  if  it  is  a  person  like  Admiral  Dewey,  whose  party 
banner  is  the  flag  under  which  he  has  sent  an  enemy's  fleet  to  the 
bottom,  he  will  succeed  only  in  being  amusing.  The  regular,  or- 
ganized parties  are  the  only  ones  which  seriously  count  in  politics. 
It  sometimes  happens,  however,  that  a  few  months  before  the 
elections  a  small  band  of  politically  or  industrially  influential  men 
will  meet  to  consider  the  project  of  a  third  party,  while  their  real 
aim  is  to  create  a  little  organization  whose  voting  power  will  be 
coveted  by  both  of  the  great  parties.  In  this  way  the  founders 
plan  to  force  one  or  both  of  these  to  make  concessions  to  the  prin- 
ciples of  their  little  group,  since  the  most  important  feature  is 
that  Republicans  and  Democrats  are  so  nearly  equally  balanced 
that  only  a  slight  force  is  needed  to  turn  the  scales  to  either  side. 
In  recent  elections  McKinley  and  Cleveland  have  each  been  elect- 
ed twice  to  the  Presidency,  and  no  one  can  say  whether  the  next 
presidential  majority  will  be  Republican  or  Democrat.  On 
Cleveland's  second  election  the  Democrats  had  5,556,918,  and  the 
Republicans  5,176,108  votes,  while  the  Populists  made  a  showing 
of  one  million  votes.  But  four  years  later  the  tables  were  turned, 
and  McKinley  won  on  7,106,199  votes,  while  Bryan  lost  on  6,502,- 
685.  It  is  clear,  therefore,  that  neither  of  the  parties  has  to  fear 
that  a  third  party  will  elect  its  candidate;  nor  can  either  rest  on  old 
laurels,  for  any  remission  of  effort  is  a  certain  victory  for  the  other 
side.  A  third  party  is  dangerous  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  likely  to 
split  up  one  of  the  two  parties  and  so  weaken  it  in  an  otherwise 
almost  equal  competition. 

What,  now,  are  the  principles  and  aims  of  the  Republican  and 
Democratic  parties  ?  Their  names  are  not  significant,  since 
neither  do  the  Republicans  wish  to  do  away  with  American  de- 
mocracy, nor  do  the  Democrats  have  any  designs  on  the  republi- 
can form  of  government.  At  the  opening  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury the  present  Democrats  were  called  "Democratic-Repub- 
licans," and  this  long  abandoned  name  could  just  as  well  be  given 
to  all  surviving  parties.  Neither  aristocracy  nor  monarchy  nor 
anarchy  nor  plutocracy  has  ever  so  far  appeared  on  a  party 
programme,  and  however  hotly  the  battle  may  be  waged  between 
Republicans  and  Democrats,  it  is  forever  certain  that  both  op- 


42  THE  AMERICANS 

ponents  are  at  once  Democrats  and  Republicans.     Wherein,  then, 
do  they  differ  ? 

The  true  party  politician  of  America  does  not  philosophize  over- 
much about  the  parties;  it  is  enough  for  him  that  one  party  has 
taken  or  is  likely  to  take  this,  and  the  other  party  that  position  on 
the  living  questions,  and  beyond  this  his  interest  is  absorbed  by 
special  problems.  He  is  reluctant  enough  when  it  comes  to  taking 
up  the  nicer  question  of  deducing  logically  from  the  general  prin- 
ciples of  a  party  what  attitude  it  ought  to  take  on  this  or  that 
special  issue.  The  nearest  he  would  come  to  this  would  be  con- 
versely to  point  out  that  the  attitude  of  his  opponents  directly  re- 
futes their  party's  most  sacred  doctrines.  Those  who  philoso- 
phize are  mostly  outsiders,  either  sojourners  in  the  country,  or 
indigenous  critics  who  are  considerably  more  alive  to  the  unavoid- 
able evils  of  party  politics  than  to  the  merits.  From  such  oppo- 
nents of  parties  as  well  as  from  foreigners,  one  hears  again  and 
again  that  the  parties  do  not  really  stand  for  any  general  principles 
at  the  present  time,  that  their  separate  existence  has  lost  whatever 
political  significance  it  may  have  had,  and  that  to-day  they  are 
merely  two  organizations  preserving  a  semblance  of  individuality 
and  taking  such  attitude  toward  the  issues  of  the  day  as  is  likely 
to  secure  the  largest  number  of  votes,  in  order  to  distribute  among 
their  members  the  fruits  of  victory.  The  present  parties,  say 
these  critics,  were  formed  in  that  struggle  of  intellectual  forces 
which  took  place  during  the  third  quarter  of  the  last  century;  it 
was  the  dispute  over  slavery  which  led  to  the  Civil  War.  The 
Republican  party  was  the  party  of  the  Northern  States  in  their 
anti-slavery  zeal;  the  Democratic  was  the  party  of  the  slave-hold- 
ing Southern  States;  and  the  opposition  had  political  significance 
as  long  as  the  effects  of  the  war  lasted,  and  it  was  necessary  to 
work  for  the  conciliation  and  renewed  participation  of  the  de- 
feated Confederacy.  But  all  this  is  long  past.  Harrison,  Cleve- 
land, Blaine,  Bryan,  McKinley,  and  Roosevelt  became  the  stand- 
ard-bearers of  their  respective  parties  long  after  the  wounds  of  the 
war  had  healed.  And  it  is  no  outcome  from  the  original,  dis- 
tinguishing principles  of  the  parties,  if  the  slave-holding  party 
takes  the  side  of  free-trade,  silver  currency  and  anti-imperialism, 
while  the  anti-slavery  elements  stay  together  in  behalf  of  the  gold 
standard,  protection,  and  expansion. 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  4.3 

It  looks,  rather,  as  if  the  doctrines  had  migrated  each  to  the 
other's  habitat.  The  party  which  was  against  slavery  was  support- 
ing the  rights  of  the  individual;  how  comes  it,  then,  to  be  bitterly 
opposing  the  freedom  of  trade  ?  And  how  do  the  friends  of  slavery 
happen  to  champion  the  cause  of  free-trade,  or,  more  remarkably, 
to  oppose  so  passionately  to-day  the  oppression  of  the  people  of 
the  Philippines  ?  And  what  have  these  questions  to  do  with 
the  monetary  standard  ?  It  looks  as  if  the  organization  had 
become  a  body  without  a  soul.  Each  party  tries  to  keep  the 
dignity  of  its  historic  traditions  and  at  every  new  juncture  bobs 
and  ducks  before  the  interests  and  prejudices  of  its  habitual 
clientele,  while  it  seeks  to  outwit  the  opposite  party  by  popular 
agitation  against  persistent  wrongs  and  abuses  or  by  new 
campaign  catch-words  and  other  devices.  But  there  is  no  further 
thought  of  consistently  standing  by  any  fundamental  principles. 
This  hap-hazard  propping  up  of  the  party  programme  is  evinced 
by  the  fact  that  either  party  is  divided  on  almost  every  question, 
and  the  preference  of  the  majority  becomes  the  policy  of  the 
party  only  through  the  strict  discipline  and  suppression  of  the 
minority.  The  Republicans  won  in  their  campaign  for  im- 
perialism, and  yet  no  anti-imperialist  raised  his  voice  more  loudly 
than  the  Republican  Senator  Hoar.  The  Democrats  acclaimed 
the  silver  schemes  of  Bryan,  but  the  Gold  Democrats  num- 
bered on  their  side  really  all  the  best  men  of  the  party.  Again, 
on  other  important  issues  both  parties  will  adopt  the  same  plat- 
form as  soon  as  they  see  that  the  masses  are  bound  to  vote  that 
way.  Thus  neither  party  will  openly  come  out  for  trusts,  but 
both  parties  boast  of  deprecating  them;  and  both  profess  like- 
wise to  uphold  civil-service  reform.  This  is  so  much  the  case  that 
it  has  often  been  observed  that  within  a  wide  range  the  pro- 
grammes of  the  two  parties  in  no  way  conflict.  One  party  ex- 
tols that  which  the  other  has  never  opposed,  and  the  semblance 
of  a  difference  is  kept  up  only  by  such  insistent  vociferation  of  the 
policy  as  implies  some  sly  and  powerful  gainsayer.  And  then 
with  the  same  histrionic  rage  comes  the  other  party  and  pounces 
on  some  scandal  which  the  first  had  never  thought  of  sanctioning. 
In  short,  there  are  no  parties  to-day  but  the  powerful  election  or- 
ganizations which  have  no  other  end  in  view  than  to  come  into 
power  at  whatever  cost.  It  should  seem  better  wholly  to  give  up 


44  THE  AMERICANS 

the  out-lived  issues,  and  to  have  only  independent  candidates  who, 
without  regard  to  party  pressure,  would  be  grouped  according  to 
their  attitude  on  the  chief  problems  of  the  day. 

And  yet,  after  the  worst  has  thus  been  said,  we  find  ourselves 
still  far  removed  from  the  facts.  Each  separate  charge  may  be 
true,  but  the  whole  be  false  and  misleading:  even  although  many 
a  party  adherent  admits  the  justness  of  the  characterization,  and 
declares  that  the  party  must  decide  every  case  "on  its  merits," 
and  that  to  hold  to  principles  is  inexpedient  in  politics.  For  the 
principles  exist,  nevertheless,  and  have  existed,  and  they  dominate 
mightily  the  great  to  and  fro  of  party  movements.  Just  as  there 
have  always  been  persons  who  pretend  to  deduce  the  entire  his- 
tory of  Europe  from  petty  court  intrigues  and  jealousies  of  the 
ante-room  or  the  boudoir,  so  there  will  always  be  wise-heads  in 
America  to  see  through  party  doings,  and  deduce  everything  from 
the  speculative  manipulations  of  a  couple  of  banking  houses  or  the 
private  schemes  of  a  sugar  magnate  or  a  silver  king.  Such  ex- 
planations never  go  begging  for  a  credulous  public,  since  mankind 
has  a  deep-rooted  craving  to  see  lowness  put  on  exhibition.  No 
man  is  a  hero,  it  is  said,  in  the  eyes  of  his  valet.  Nations,  too,  have 
their  valets;  and  with  them,  too,  the  fact  is  not  that  there  are  no 
heroes,  but  that  a  valet  can  see  only  with  the  eyes  of  a  valet. 

It  is  true  that  the  party  lines  of  to-day  have  developed  from  the 
conflicting  motives  of  the  Civil  War.  But  the  fundamental  error 
which  prevents  all  insight  into  the  deeper  connections,  lies  in  sup- 
posing that  the  anti-slavery  party  was  first  inspired  by  the  indi- 
vidual fate  of  the  negro,  or  in  general  the  freedom  of  the  individual. 
We  must  recall  some  of  the  facts  of  history.  The  question  of 
slavery  did  not  make  its  first  appearance  in  the  year  1860,  when  the 
Republican  party  became  important.  The  contrast  between  the 
plantation  owners  of  the  South,  to  whom  slave  labour  was  appar- 
ently indispensable,  and  the  industry  and  trade  of  the  North, 
which  had  no  need  of  slaves,  had  existed  from  the  beginning  of  the 
century  and  was  in  itself  no  reason  for  the  formation  of  political 
parties.  It  was  mainly  an  economic  question  which,  together  with 
many  other  factors,  led  to  a  far-reaching  opposition  between  the 
New  England  States  and  the  South,  an  opposition  which  was 
strengthened,  to  be  sure,  by  the  moral  scruples  of  the  Puritanical 
North.  But  the  earlier  parties  were  not  marked  off  by  degrees  of 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  4.5 

latitude,  and  furthermore  the  Southerner  was  by  no  means  lack- 
ing in  personal  sympathy  for  the  negro.  The  question  first  came 
into  politics  indirectly.  It  was  in  those  years  when  the  Union  was 
pushing  out  into  the  West,  taking  in  new  territories  and  then  mak- 
ing them  into  states  by  act  of  Congress,  according  to  the  provi- 
sions of  the  Constitution.  In  1819  the  question  came  up  of  ad- 
mitting Missouri  to  the  Union,  and  now  for  the  first  time  Congress 
faced  the  problem  as  to  whether  slavery  should  be  allowed  in  a 
new  state.  The  South  wished  it  and  the  North  opposed  it.  Con- 
gress finally  decided  that  Missouri  should  be  a  slave  state,  but  that 
in  the  future  slavery  should  be  forbidden  north  of  a  certain  geo- 
graphical line.  Thus  slavery  came  to  be  recognized  as  a  question 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  federal  Congress.  Wherewith,  if 
Congress  should  vote  against  slavery  by  a  sufficient  majority,  it 
could  forbid  the  practice  in  all  the  Southern  states.  And  this 
would  mean  their  ruin. 

It  came  thus  to  be  for  the  interest  of  the  Southern  states,  which 
at  that  time  had  a  majority,  to  see  to  it  that  for  every  free  state 
admitted  to  the  Union  there  should  be  at  least  one  new  slave  state; 
this  in  order  to  hold  their  majority  in  Congress.  Now  it  happened 
at  that  time  that  the  territories  which,  by  reason  of  their  population, 
would  have  next  to  be  admitted,  lay  all  north  of  the  appointed 
boundary  and  would,  therefore,  be  free  states.  Therefore  the 
slave-holders  promulgated  the  theory  that  Congress  had  exceeded 
its  jurisdiction  and  interfered  with  the  rights  of  the  individual 
states.  The  matter  was  brought  before  the  Supreme  Court,  and 
in  1857  a  verdict  was  given  which  upheld  the  new  theory.  Thus 
Congress,  that  is,  the  Union  as  a  whole,  could  not  forbid  slavery  in 
any  place,  but  must  leave  the  matter  for  each  state  to  decide. 
Herewith  an  important  political  issue  was  created,  and  a  part  of 
the  country  stood  out  for  the  rights  of  the  Union,  a  part  for  those 
of  the  individual  states.  The  group  of  men  who  at  that  time  fore- 
saw that  the  whole  Union  was  threatened,  if  so  far-reaching  rights 
were  to  be  conceded  to  the  states,  was  the  Republican  party.  It 
rose  up  defiantly  for  the  might  and  right  of  the  federation,  and 
would  not  permit  one  of  the  most  important  social  and  economic 
questions  to  be  taken  out  of  the  hands  of  the  central  government 
and  left  to  local  choice.  It  was,  of  course,  not  a  matter  of  chance 
that  slavery  became  the  occasion  of  dispute,  but  the  real  question 


4.6  THE  AMERICANS 

at  issue  was  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Federal  Government.  The 
federal  party  won,  under  the  leadership  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  His 
election  was  the  signal  for  the  slave  states  to  secede,  South  Caro- 
lina being  the  first.  In  February,  1861,  these  states  formed  a  Con- 
federation, and  the  Union  was  formally  cleft.  In  his  inaugural 
speech  of  the  following  March,  Lincoln  firmly  declared  that  the 
Union  must  be  preserved  at  all  cost.  The  Civil  War  began  in 
April,  and  after  fearful  fighting  the  secessionists  were  returned  to 
the  Union,  all  slaves  were  freed,  and  the  Southern  states  were  re- 
constructed after  the  ideas  of  the  Republican  party.  The  oppos- 
ing party,  the  Democratic,  was  the  party  of  decentralization.  Its 
programme  was  the  freedom  of  the  individual  state  but  not  the 
servitude  of  the  individual  man. 

When  one  understands  in  this  way  the  difference  between  the 
two  parties,  one  sees  that  the  Republicans  were  not  for  freedom 
nor  the  Democrats  for  slavery,  but  the  Republicans  were  for  a 
more  complete  subordination  of  the  states  to  the  federation  and 
the  Democrats  were  for  the  converse.  This  is  a  very  different  point 
of  view,  and  from  it  very  much  which  seems  incompatible  with 
the  attitude  of  the  two  parties  toward  the  question  of  slavery  may 
now  be  seen  as  a  necessary  historical  consequence. 

If  we  cast  a  glance  at  foregoing  decades,  we  see  that  ever 
since  the  early  days  of  the  republic  there  has  been  hardly  a  time 
when  these  two  forces,  the  centralizing  and  the  decentralizing, 
have  not  been  in  play.  It  has  lain  deep  in  the  nature  of  Teu- 
tonic peoples  to  pull  apart  from  one  another,  while  at  the  same 
time  the  struggle  for  existence  has  forced  them  to  strong  and  well 
unified  organization,  so  that  scarcely  a  single  Teutonic  people 
has  been  spared  that  same  opposition  of  social  forces  which  is 
found  in  America.  The  origin  of  the  Constitution  itself  can  be 
understood  only  with  reference  to  these  antagonistic  tendencies. 
The  country  wanted  to  be  free  of  the  miserable  uncertainty,  the 
internal  discord  and  outward  weakness  which  followed  the  Dec- 
laration of  Independence;  it  wanted  the  strength  of  unity.  And 
yet  every  single  state  guarded  jealously  its  own  rights,  suspected 
every  other  state,  and  wished  to  be  ensured  against  any  encroach- 
ment of  the  federal  power.  And  so  the  Constitution  was  drawn 
up  with  special  precautions  ensuring  the  equilibrium  of  power. 
At  once,  in  Washington's  cabinet,  both  tendencies  were  distinctly 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  47 

and  notably  represented.  There  sat  the  distinguished  Hamilton, 
the  minister  of  finance  and  framer  of  the  Constitution,  who  was  a 
tireless  champion  of  the  federal  spirit,  and  beside  him  sat  Jefferson, 
the  minister  of  state,  who  would  have  preferred  to  have  the  federa- 
tion transact  nothing  but  foreign  affairs  and  who  believed  in  gen- 
eral the  less  the  legislation  the  better  for  the  people.  The  ad- 
herents of  Hamilton's  policy  formed  the  federalist  party,  while 
Jefferson's  supporters  were  called  the  Democratic  Republicans. 
The  names  have  changed  and  the  special  issues  have  altered  with 
the  progress  of  events;  indeed,  apparently  the  centralist  party  has 
gone  twice  out  of  existence,  yet  it  was  actually  this  party  of  which 
Lincoln  became  the  leader.  Jefferson's  party,  on  the  other  hand, 
in  spite  of  its  change  of  name,  has  never  as  an  organization 
ceased  to  exist.  The  Democrats  who,  in  1860,  wished  to  submit 
the  question  of  slavery  to  the  individual  states,  were  the  immediate 
heirs  of  the  anti-federalists  who  had  elected  their  first  president  in 
1800. 

Now  if  the  centralizing  and  decentralizing  character  of  the  two 
parties  is  borne  in  mind,  their  further  development  down  to  the 
present  day  can  be  understood.  This  development  seems  discon- 
nected and  contradictory  only  when  the  slavery  question  is  thought 
to  be  the  main  feature  and  the  Republicans  are  accounted  the 
champions  of  freedom  and  the  Democrats  of  slavery.  Even 
Bryce,  who  has  furnished  by  far  the  best  account  of  the  American 
party  system,  underestimates  somewhat  the  inner  continuity  of  the 
parties.  Even  he  believes  that  the  chief  mission  of  the  Republican 
party  has  been  to  do  away  with  slavery  and  to  reconstruct  the 
Southern  states,  and  that  since  this  end  was  accomplished  as  far 
back  as  in  the  seventies,  new  parties  ought  naturally  to  have  been 
formed  by  this  time.  Although  the  old  organizations  have  in 
fact  persisted,  a  certain  vagueness  and  lack  of  vitality  can  be 
detected,  he  says,  in  both  parties.  According  to  that  conception, 
however,  it  would  be  incomprehensible  why  those  who  formerly 
went  forth  to  put  an  end  to  slavery  now  advance  to  bring  the 
Filipinos  into  subjection,  and  to  detain  the  poor  man  from  pur- 
chasing his  necessities  where  they  are  the  cheapest. 

As  we  have  seen,  the  Democrats  were  the  party  which  was  true 
to  the  Jeffersonian  principles,  and  in  opposition  to  the  supporters 
of  congressional  authority  defended  the  rights  and  free  play  of  the 


48  THE  AMERICANS 

individual  states.  And  the  Republicans  were  those  who  wished  to 
exalt  beyond  any  other  the  authority  of  the  Federal  Government. 
This  is  the  key  to  everything  which  has  since  come  to  pass.  At 
the  last  presidential  elections  there  were  three  great  party  issues  — 
the  tariff,  the  currency,  and  the  question  of  expansion.  In  decid- 
ing on  all  three  of  these  points,  the  parties  have  conformed  to  their 
old  principles.  Free-trade  versus  protective  tariff  was  not  a  new 
bone  of  contention.  Jefferson's  party  had  urged  free-trade  with 
all  the  nations  of  the  earth  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  century, 
and,  of  course,  a  decentralizing  party  which  likes  as  little  super- 
vision and  paternalism  as  possible,  will  always  concede  to  the 
individual  his  right  to  buy  what  he  requires  where  it  will  cost  the 
least.  The  Democrats  did  not  oppose  a  tariff  for  revenue,  to 
help  defray  the  public  expenses,  but  they  objected  on  principle 
to  that  further  tariff  which  was  laid  on  goods  in  order  to  keep  the 
prices  of  them  high  and  so  to  protect  home  industries.  The  cen- 
tralists, that  is,  the  whigs  or  the  Republicans,  on  the  contrary,  by 
their  supreme  confidence  in  the  one  national  government,  had 
early  been  led  to  expect  from  it  a  certain  protection  of  the  national 
market  and  some  regulation  of  the  economic  struggle  for  existence. 
And  protective  tariff  was  one  of  the  main  planks  in  their  platform 
early  in  the  century. 

It  is  clear,  once  more,  that  the  anti-centralists  had  a  direct  and 
natural  interest  in  the  small  man,  his  economic  weaknesses  and 
burdens;  every  member  of  society  must  have  equal  right  and  op- 
portunity to  work  out  his  career.  It  does  not  contradict  this  that 
the  Democrats  believed  in  slavery.  In  the  Southern  states  the 
negro  had  come  in  the  course  of  generations  to  be  looked  on  as 
property,  as  a  possession  to  be  held  and  utilized  in  a  special  way, 
and  any  feeling  of  personal  responsibility  was  of  a  patriarchal 
and  not  a  political  nature.  The  peculiarly  democratic  element 
in  the  position  taken  was  the  demand  that  the  slavery  question 
be  left  with  the  separate  states  to  decide.  As  soon  as  fellow 
citizens  were  concerned,  the  anti-centralist  party  held  true  to 
its  principles  of  looking  out  for  the  members  on  the  periphery 
of  society.  In  this  way  the  party  favoured  the  progressive  in- 
come tax,  and  has  always  espoused  any  cause  which  would  assist 
the  working-man  against  the  superior  force  of  protected  capital, 
or  the  farmer  against  the  machinations  of  the  stock  market. 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  4.9 

The  exaggerated  notions  as  to  the  silver  standard  of  currency 
originated  outside  of  the  Democratic  party,  and  have  intrinsically 
nothing  to  do  with  democracy.  But  as  soon  as  a  considerable 
part  of  the  people  from  one  cause  or  another  began  really  to 
believe  that  nothing  but  a  silver  currency  could  relieve  the  con- 
dition of  the  artisans  and  farmers,  it  became  logically  necessary 
for  the  party  which  opposed  centralization  to  adopt  and  foster  this 
panacea,  however  senseless  it  might  seem  to  the  more  thoughtful 
elements  within  the  party.  And  it  was  no  less  necessary  for  the 
party  which  upholds  federal  authority  to  oppose  unconditionally 
anything  which  would  endanger  the  coinage  and  credit  of  the  coun- 
try. The  gold  standard  is  specifically  a  Republican  doctrine  only 
when  it  is  understood  to  repudiate  and  oppose  all  risky  experi- 
menting with  bi-metallism. 

In  the  new  imperialistic  movement,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was 
the  Democrats  who  were  put  on  the  defensive.  Any  one  who  leans 
toward  individualism  must  instinctively  lean  away  from  milita- 
rism, which  makes  for  strength  at  the  centre;  from  aggressive 
movements  to  annex  new  lands,  whereby  the  owners  are  deprived 
of  their  natural  rights  to  manage  their  own  affairs,  and  from  any 
meddling  with  international  politics,  for  this  involves  necessarily 
increased  discretionary  powers  for  the  central  government.  It  is 
not  that  the  Democrats  care  less  for  the  greatness  of  their  father- 
land, but  they  despise  that  jingo  patriotism  which  abandons  the 
traditions  of  the  country  by  bringing  foreign  peoples  into  subjec- 
tion. It  is  left  for  the  centralists  to  meet  the  new  situation  square- 
ly, undertake  new  responsibilities,  and  convince  the  nation  that  it 
is  strong  and  mature  enough  now  to  play  a  decisive  role  in  the 
politics  of  the  world.  And  thus  the  two  great  parties  are  by  no 
manner  of  means  two  rudderless  derelicts  carried  hither  and 
thither  by  the  currents  ever  since  the  Civil  War,  but,  rather,  great 
three-deckers  following  without  swerve  their  appointed  courses. 

The  parties  have  sometimes  been  distinguished  as  conservative 
and  liberal,  but  this  is  rather  a  reminiscence  of  conditions  in  Eu- 
rope. Both  of  the  parties  are  really  conservative,  as  results 
from  both  the  American  character  and  the  nature  of  the  party 
organization.  Even  in  the  most  radical  Democratic  gathering 
the  great  appeal  is  never  made  in  behalf  of  some  advantageous 
or  brilliant  innovation  but  on  the  grounds  of  adherence  to 


50  THE  AMERICANS 

the  old,  reliable,  and  well-nigh  sacred  party  principles.  If 
either  party  is  at  present  departing  from  the  traditions  of  the 
past,  it  is  the  Republican  party,  which  has  always  figured  as 
the  more  conservative  of  the  two.  Yet  such  a  distinction  is 
partly  true,  since  the  centralists  in  conformity  to  their  principles 
must  specially  maintain  the  Federal  authority  and  precedent, 
while  the  Democratic  party  is  more  naturally  inclined  to  give  ear 
to  discontented  spirits,  clever  innovators,  and  fantastic  reformers, 
lest  some  decentralizing  energy  should  be  suppressed.  So  the  Re- 
publican party  gains  a  fundamental  and  cheerful  complacence 
with  the  prevailing  order  of  things,  while  the  Democratic  party, 
even  when  it  is  in  power,  can  never  come  quite  to  rest.  The  con- 
trast is  not  that  between  rich  and  poor;  the  Democratic  party  has 
its  quota  of  millionaires,  and  the  Republican  has,  for  instance,  in 
its  negro  clientage  many  of  the  poorest  in  the  land.  But  the  Re- 
publican party  is  filled  with  self-satisfaction  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  power  and  success,  while  the  Democrats  are  forever  meas- 
uring the  actual  according  to  an  ideal  which  can  never  be  realized. 
Like  all  centralists,  the  Republicans  are  essentially  opportunists 
and  matter-of-fact  politicians;  and  the  Democrats,  like  all  anti- 
centralists,  are  idealists  and  enthusiasts.  It  has  been  well  said 
that  a  Democratic  committee  is  conducted  like  a  debating  club,  but 
a  Republican  like  a  meeting  of  the  stockholders  in  a  corporation. 
These  facts  clearly  hint  at  a  certain  personal  factor  which  in- 
fluences the  citizen's  allegiance  to  one  or  other  of  the  parties.  In 
meeting  a  man  on  a  journey  one  has  very  soon  the  impression, 
though  one  may  often  be  mistaken,  as  to  what  party  he  belongs  to, 
although  he  may  not  have  spoken  a  word  about  politics.  But 
more  distinctive  than  the  personal  bias  are  the  groupings  by  classes 
and  regions  which  have  come  about  during  the  course  of  time. 
In  the  North  and  West  the  Republicans  have  the  majority 
among  the  educated  classes,  but  in  the  South  the  educated 
people  are  Democrats,  particularly  since  the  negro  population 
there  holds  to  the  old  abolition  party,  so  that  the  whites  are  the 
more  ready  to  be  on  the  other  side.  The  lower  classes  are  moved 
by  the  most  diverse  motives;  the  farmer  is  inclined  to  be  Repub- 
lican and  the  artisan  of  the  cities  Democratic;  Protestants  are 
more  often  Republicans  and  Catholics  Democrats,  a  partition 
which  began  with  the  early  identification  of  the  Puritan  clergy  of 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  51 

New  England  with  the  Republican  party.  This  resulted  in  an 
affiliation  of  Catholicism  and  Democracy  which  has  had  very  im- 
portant consequences,  particularly  in  municipal  politics;  the 
Irish,  who  are  invariably  Catholics,  vote  with  the  Democratic 
party.  The  Germans  and  Swedes,  specially  in  the  West,  are 
mostly  Republicans.  In  these  ways  the  most  complicated  com- 
binations have  come  about,  particularly  in  the  Middle  West, 
where  many  of  the  larger  states  are  always  uncertain  at  election 
time.  In  the  elections  of  the  State  of  New  York,  the1  Democrats 
and  Republicans  have  been  alternately  successful.  Very  often 
the  capital  city  votes  differently  from  the  rural  districts,  as  in  Mas- 
sachusetts, which  is  a  stalwart  Republican  state,  although  Boston, 
owing  to  the  Irish  population,  is  Democratic. 


These  considerations  as  to  the  groupings  of  the  party  adherents 
bring  us  directly  to  our  second  question  —  who  are  the  party 
politicians  ?  We  have  aimed  to  refute  the  assertion  that  the  par- 
ties are  without  their  principles,  but  there  is  the  further  assertion 
that  the  politicians  are  without  principles.  In  asking  whether 
politics  are  really  in  the  hands  of  unscrupulous  men,  one  should 
first  ascertain  whether  there  are  any  honourable  motives  which 
would  lead  a  man  to  devote  himself  thereto.  And  it  appears 
that  nowhere  else  are  there  such  powerful  inducements  for  a 
conscientious  man  to  go  into  politics.  First  of  all  there  is  the 
best  possible  motive,  the  wish  to  see  one's  country  governed  ac- 
cording to  one's  own  ideas  of  justice  and  progress,  and  the  desire 
to  work  in  this  way  for  the  honour,  security,  and  welfare  of  the 
nation.  Any  one  who  has  witnessed  the  American  presidential 
elections  once  or  twice  will  be  convinced  that  the  overwhelming 
majority  of  voters  casts  its  votes  in  a  truly  ethical  spirit,  although, 
of  course,  the  moral  feeling  is  now  more,  now  less,  profound.  At 
times  when  technical  matters  are  chiefly  the  order  of  the  day,  or  at 
best  matters  of  expediency,  enthusiasm  for  a  party  victory  has  to 
be  kept  up  in  other  ways;  but  when  it  comes  to  questions  of  the 
national  solidarity  and  honour,  or  of  justice  and  freedom,  then 
really  high  ethical  enthusiasm  holds  place  before  all  other  polit- 
ical motives.  In  fact,  the  keen  party  spirit  of  the  American  is 
rather  in  danger  of  making  him  feel  a  virtuous  indignation  against 


II.  OF  ILL  U& 


$2  THE  AMERICANS 

the  opposing  party,  even  in  regard  to  purely  technical  issues,  as  if 
it  had  fallen  into  mere  frivolity  or  been  criminally  irresponsible. 
And  in  this  way  the  American  is  never  at  a  loss  for  a  moral  stream 
of  some  sort  to  keep  the  political  mill-wheel  turning. 

After  patriotic  enthusiasm  come  the  economic  and  social  motives 
which  even  the  most  high-flown  idealist  would  not  designate  as 
corrupt.  It  is  not  only  just,  but  it  is  actually  the  ideal  of  politics 
that  every  portion  of  the  population,  every  class  and  calling,  as 
well  as  every  geographical  section,  should  see  its  peculiar  interests 
brought  up  for  political  debate.  It  is  possible  for  an  equilibrium 
of  all  existing  forces  to  be  reached  only  when  all  elements  alike  are 
aware  of  their  chance  to  assert  themselves.  Nothing  could  be 
gained  if  agriculture  were  to  become  political  sponsor  for  the  in- 
dustrial interests,  or  if  industry  were  to  assume  the  care  and  pro- 
tection of  agriculture.  A  due  and  proper  emphasis  by  the  respect- 
ive interests  of  their  own  needs  will  always  be  an  honourable  and, 
for  the  public  welfare,  useful  incentive  to  political  efficiency.  It 
is  not  to  be  doubted  that  in  this  way  American  politics  have  always 
induced  millions  of  citizens  to  the  liveliest  participation.  As  we 
have  seen,  free-trade  and  protective  tariff  grew  out  of  the  chief  de- 
mands of  the  two  parties;  but  this  does  not  prevent  the  same  party 
opposition  from  standing  in  a  way  for  the  diverse  and  partly  con- 
tradictory interests  of  Northern  industry  and  Southern  plantation 
life.  Hence  the  parties  are  immediately  interested  in  trade  and 
commerce.  In  a  similar  way  the  interests  of  the  West  have  been 
bound  up  in  bi-metallism  schemes,  while  the  commercial  integrity 
of  the  East  depends  on  a  gold  currency.  Legislation  affecting 
trusts  and  banks  and  the  policy  of  expansion  touch  some  of  the 
deepest  economic  problems,  and  summon  all  those  concerned  to 
come  forward  and  play  their  part.  The  same  holds  true  of  social 
interests.  The  negro,  struggling  against  legislation  aimed  directly 
at  himself,  seeks  social  protection  through  the  Republican  party, 
while  the  Irish,  Swedes,  and  Russians  also  look  for  political 
recognition  to  advance  their  social  interests. 

Now  these  moral,  social,  and  economic  motives  interest  the  citizen 
of  every  land  in  politics;  but  there  are  other  considerations  here  in 
play,  which,  although  no  less  honourable,  figure  less  importantly 
in  Germany  for  example.  First  of  all  stands  loyalty  to  the  tra- 
ditions of  one's  party.  The  son  joins  the  party  of  his  father,  and 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  53 

is  true  to  it  for  life.  In  this  way  many  are  held  in  the  party  net 
who  otherwise  might  not  agree  to  its  general  tenets.  In  a  country 
where  there  are  many  parties  with  only  slight  shades  of  difference, 
where,  say,  the  national-liberals  are  only  a  step  removed  from  the 
independents  or  the  independent-conservatives,  each  new  election 
period  offers  the  voter  a  free  choice  between  parties.  But  where 
there  are  only  two  camps  a  party  loyalty  is  developed  which  leaves 
very  much  less  to  personal  inclination,  and  makes  possible  a 
firm  party  discipline.  Then  the  citizen  may  come  to  say  of  his 
party  as  of  his  fatherland,  "  It  may  be  right  or  wrong,  it  is  still  my 
party."  A  man  like  Hoar  may  use  all  the  force  of  his  rhetoric  to 
condemn  imperialism  and  to  stigmatize  it  as  a  crime,  and  he  may 
leave  no  stone  unturned  to  bring  his  own  Republican  party  to 
abandon  the  imperialistic  policy,  and  yet,  if  his  recommendations 
are  officially  outvoiced,  he  will  not  falter  in  supporting  the  regular 
candidates  of  his  party,  imperialists  though  they  be,  as  against  the 
anti-imperialist  Democratic  candidates.  The  typical  American 
will  rather  wait  for  his  own  party  to  take  up  and  correct  the  evils 
which  he  most  deplores  than  go  over  to  the  other  party  which  may 
be  already  working  for  the  same  reforms. 

To  be  sure,  there  are  Americans  who  account  this  point  of  view 
narrow  or  even  culpable,  and  who  reserve  the  right  of  judging  the 
programmes  of  both  parties  afresh  each  time  and  of  casting  their 
lot  on  the  side  which  they  find  to  be  right.  The  example  of  Carl 
Schurz  will  be  readily  recalled,  who  in  1896  delivered  notable 
speeches  in  favour  of  McKinley  against  Bryan,  but  came  out  in 
1900  for  Bryan  as  against  McKinley.  He  was  a  Republican  on 
the  first  occasion,  because  at  that  time  the  question  of  currency 
was  in  the  foreground,  and  he  thought  it  paramount  to  preserve 
the  gold  standard,  while  in  the  next  election  he  went  over  to  the 
Democrats  because  the  question  of  expansion  had  come  to  the 
fore,  and  he  preferred  the  short-sighted  silver  policy  to  the  un- 
righteous programme  of  war  and  subjugation.  The  number  of 
such  independent  politicians  is  not  small,  and  among  them  are 
many  of  the  finest  characters  in  the  land.  Behind  them  comes 
the  considerable  class  of  voters  who  may  be  won  over  to  either 
party  by  momentary  considerations  of  business  prosperity,  by  any 
popular  agitation  for  the  sake  of  being  with  the  crowd,  by  personal 
sympathies  or  antipathies,  or  merely  through  discontent  with  the 


AMERICANS 

prevailing  regime.  If  there  were  not  an  appreciable  part  of  the 
people  to  oscillate  in  this  way  between  the  parties,  the  elections 
would  fall  out  the  same  way  from  year  to  year,  the  result  could  al- 
ways be  told  beforehand,  and  neither  party  would  have  any  in- 
centive to  active  effort;  in  short,  political  life  would  stagnate. 
Thus  the  citizens  who  owe  no  party  allegiance  but  take  sides  ac- 
cording to  the  merits  of  the  case  are  very  efficient  practically:  in  a 
way  they  represent  the  conscience  of  the  country,  and  yet  three- 
fourths  of  the  population  would  look  on  their  political  creed  with 
suspicion,  or,  indeed,  contempt.  They  would  insist  that  the  Ameri- 
can system  needs  great  parties,  and  that  parties  cannot  be  prac- 
tically effective  if  there  is  no  discipline  in  their  organization  —  that 
is,  if  the  minority  of  their  membership  is  not  ready  to  submit  cheer- 
fully to  the  will  of  the  majority.  If  any  man  wishes  to  make  re- 
forms, he  should  first  set  about  to  reform  his  party.  Whereas,  if 
on  every  difference  of  opinion  he  goes  over  to  the  enemy's  camp, 
he  simply  destroys  all  respect  for  the  weight  of  a  majority,  and 
therewith  undermines  all  democracy.  It  is  as  if  a  party,  which 
found  itself  defeated  at  the  polls,  should  start  a  revolution;  where- 
as it  is  the  pride  of  the  American  people  to  accept  without  protest 
the  government  which  the  majority  has  chosen.  And  so  party 
allegiance  is  taken  as  the  mark  of  political  maturity,  and  the  men 
who  hold  themselves  superior  to  their  parties  are  influential  at  the 
polls,  but  in  the  party  camps  they  see  their  arguments  held  in  light 
esteem.  They  are  mistrusted  by  the  popular  mind. 

In  addition  to  all  this  the  American  happens  to  be  a  born  poli- 
tician. On  the  one  hand  the  mere  technique  of  politics  fascinates 
him;  every  boy  is  acquainted  with  parliamentary  forms,  and  to 
frame  amendments  or  file  demurrers  appeals  vastly  to  his  fancy. 
It  is  an  hereditary  trait.  On  the  other  hand,  he  finds  in  the  party 
the  most  diversified  social  environment  which  he  may  hope  to 
meet.  Aside  from  his  church,  the  farmer  or  artisan  finds  his  sole 
social  inspiration  in  his  party,  where  the  political  assemblies  and 
contact  with  men  of  like  opinions  with  himself  make  him  feel 
vividly  that  he  is  a  free  and  equal  participant  in  the  mighty  game. 
Moreover,  local  interests  cannot  be  separated  from  those  of  the 
state,  nor  these  from  the  affairs  of  the  whole  country;  for  the  party 
lines  are  drawn  even  in  the  smallest  community,  and  dominate 
public  discussions  whether  great  or  small,  so  that  even  those  who 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  55 

feel  no  interest  in  national  questions  but  are  concerned  only  with 
local  reforms,  perhaps  the  school  system  or  the  police  board,  find 
themselves,  nevertheless,  drawn  into  the  machinery  of  the  great 
national  parties. 

Yet  another  motive  induces  the  American  to  enter  politics,  a 
motive  which  is  neither  good  nor  bad.  Party  politics  have  for 
many  an  aspect  of  sport,  as  can  be  easily  understood  from  the 
Anglo-Saxon  delight  in  competition  and  the  nearly  equal  strength 
of  the  two  parties.  All  the  marks  of  sport  can  be  seen  in  the  daily 
calculations  and  the  ridiculous  wagers  which  are  made,  and  in  the 
prevalent  desire  to  be  on  the  side  of  the  winner.  Not  otherwise 
can  the  parades,  torch-light  processions,  and  other  demonstrations 
be  explained,  which  are  supposed  to  inspire  the  indifferent  or  wav- 
ering with  the  conviction  that  this  party  and  not  the  other  will 
come  out  victorious. 

The  American,  it  is  seen,  has  ample  inducements  to  engage  in 
the  activities  of  party,  from  the  noblest  patriotic  enthusiasm  down 
to  the  mere  excitement  over  a  sport.  And  it  is  doubtless  these 
various  motives  which  sustain  the  parties  in  their  activity  and  sup- 
ply such  an  inexhaustible  sum  of  energy  to  the  nation's  politics. 
By  them  the  masses  are  kept  busily  turning  the  political  wheels 
and  so  provided  with  a  political  schooling  such  as  they  get  in  no 
other  country. 

But  we  have  seen  that  to  enlist  in  the  service  of  a  political  party 
means  more  than  to  discuss  and  vote  conscientiously,  to  work  on 
committees,  or  to  contribute  to  the  party  treasury.  Every  detail 
of  elections,  local  or  national,  in  every  part  of  the  country,  has  to 
be  planned  and  worked  out  by  the  party  organization;  and  par- 
ticularly in  the  matter  of  nomination  of  candidates  by  the  mem- 
bers of  the  party,  the  work  of  arranging  and  agitating  one  scheme 
or  another  has  become  a  veritable  science,  demanding  far  more 
than  merely  amateur  ability.  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  in 
questions  of  a  majority  the  American  complacent  good  humour 
is  put  aside.  The  party  caucuses  are  managed  on  such  busi- 
ness-like methods  that  even  in  the  most  stormy  debates  the  mi- 
nutest points  of  expediency  are  kept  well  in  mind.  If  the  several 
interests  are  not  represented  with  all  that  expertness  with  which 
an  attorney  at  court  would  plead  the  cause  of  a  client,  their  case  is 
as  good  as  lost.  The  managers  have  to  study  and  know  the  least 


56  THE  AMERICANS 

details,  be  acquainted  with  personal  and  local  conditions,  with  the 
attitude  of  the  press,  of  the  officials,  and  of  the  other  party  leaders. 
Those  members  of  the  organization  who  conduct  the  large  federal 
sections  and  so  deal  with  more  than  local  affairs,  have  to  be  at 
once  lawyers,  financiers,  generals,  and  diplomats.  Shrewd  com- 
binations have  to  be  devised  in  which  city,  state,  and  national 
questions  are  nicely  interwoven  and  matters  of  personal  tact  and 
abstract  right  made  to  play  into  each  other;  and  these  arrange- 
ments must  be  carried  out  with  an  energy  and  discretion  that  will 
require  the  undivided  attention  of  any  man  who  hopes  to  succeed 
at  the  business.  Thus  the  American  conditions  demand  in  the  way 
of  organization  and  agitation  such  an  outlay  of  strength  as  could 
not  be  expected  of  the  citizens  of  any  country,  except  in  times  of 
war,  unless  in  addition  to  patriotic  motives  some  more  concrete 
inducements  should  be  offered.  And  thus  there  are  certain  ad- 
vantages and  rewards  accruing  to  the  men  who  devote  themselves 
to  this  indispensable  work. 

The  first  of  these  inducements  is,  presumably,  honour.  The  per- 
sonal distinctions  which  may  be  gotten  in  politics  cannot  easily  be 
estimated  after  German  standards.  There  are  both  credits  and 
debits  which  the  German  does  not  suspect.  To  the  former  be- 
longs the  important  fact  that  all  offices  up  to  the  very  highest  can 
be  reached  only  by  the  way  of  party  politics.  The  positions  of 
president,  ambassadors,  governors,  senators,  ministers,  and  so 
forth  are  all  provided  with  salaries,  but  such  inadequate  ones  as 
compared  with  the  scale  of  living  which  is  expected  of  the  incum- 
bents that  no  one  would  even  accept  any  of  these  positions  for  the 
sake  of  the  remuneration.  In  most  cases  an  actual  financial  sac- 
rifice has  to  be  made,  since  the  holding  of  office  is  not  an  assured 
career,  but  rather  a  brief  interruption  of  one's  private  business. 
It  is  to  be  remembered,  moreover,  that  a  civil  office  carries  no  pen- 
sion. And  thus  it  frequently  happens  that  a  man  ends  his  polit- 
ical career  because  he  has  spent  all  of  his  money,  or  because  he 
feels  it  a  duty  to  secure  his  financial  position.  Reed,  who  was  in 
a  way  the  most  important  Republican  leader,  gave  up  his  position 
as  speaker  of  the  House  of  Representatives  and  broke  off  all  polit- 
ical entanglements  in  order  to  become  partner  in  a  law  firm.  In 
the  same  way  Harrison,  on  retiring  from  the  presidency,  resumed 
his  practice  of  law,  and  Day  resigned  the  secretaryship  of  state 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  tf 

because  his  financial  resources  were  not  adequate.  An  ambassa- 
dor hardly  expects  his  salary  to  be  more  than  a  fraction  of  his  ex- 
penditures. Now  this  circumstance  need  excite  no  pity,  since 
there  is  an  abundance  of  rich  men  in  America,  and  the  Senate  has 
been  nicknamed  the  Millionaire's  Club;  but  it  should  serve  to 
show  that  honour,  prestige,  and  influence  are  the  real  incentives 
to  a  political  career,  and  not  the  "almighty  dollar,"  as  certain 
detractors  would  have  one  believe.  There  are  persons,  to  be 
sure,  who  have  gotten  money  in  politics,  but  they  are  few  and  in- 
significant beside  those  who  have  been  in  politics  because  they  had 
money.  The  political  career  in  America  thus  offers  greater  social 
rewards  than  in  Germany,  where  the  holding  of  office  is  divorced 
from  politics,  where  the  government  is  an  hereditary  monarchy 
and  strongly  influenced  by  an  hereditary  aristocracy,  and  where 
even  the  merest  mayor  or  city  councilman  must  have  his  appoint- 
ment confirmed  by  the  government. 

Since  the  social  premiums  of  the  political  life  are  so  many  and 
so  important  it  may  seem  astonishing  that  this  career  does  not  at- 
tract all  the  best  strength  of  the  nation,  and  even  embarrass  the 
parties  with  an  overplus  of  great  men.  The  reasons  why  it  does 
not  are  as  follows:  Firstly,  distinctions  due  merely  to  office  or 
position  have  not  in  a  democratic  country  the  same  exclusive 
value  which  they  have  with  an  aristocratic  nation.  The  feeling 
of  social  equality  is  much  stronger,  and  all  consideration  and  re- 
gard are  paid  to  a  man's  personal  qualities  rather  than  to  his  sta- 
tion. A  land  which  knows  no  nobility,  titles,  or  orders  is  un- 
schooled in  these  artificial  distinctions,  and  while  there  is  some 
social  differentiation  it  is  incomparably  less.  One  looks  for  one's 
neighbour  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  is  not  concerned  to  find  out 
what  he  does  during  office  hours.  The  reputation  and  influence 
which  are  earned  in  political  life  are  much  more  potent  than  any 
honour  deriving  from  position.  But  here  is  found  a  second 
retarding  factor:  the  structure  of  American  politics  does  not  con- 
duce to  fame.  In  Germany  the  party  leaders  are  constantly  in 
the  public  eye;  they  deliver  important  speeches  in  the  Reichstag 
or  the  Landtag,  and  their  oratorical  achievements  are  read  in 
every  home.  In  America  the  debates  of  Congress  are  very  little 
read,  and  those  of  the  state  legislatures  almost  not  at  all;  the 
work  of  government  is  done  in  committees.  The  speeches  of  the 


58  THE  AMERICANS 

Senate  are  the  most  likely  to  become  known,  and  yet  no  one 
becomes  famous  in  America  through  his  parliamentary  utterances, 
and  public  sentiment  is  seldom  influenced  by  oratorical  per- 
formances at  Washington. 

In  the  third  place,  every  American  party  officer  must  have 
served  in  the  ranks  and  worked  his  way  up.  It  is  not  every  man's 
business  to  spend  his  time  with  the  disagreeable  minutiae  of  the 
local  party  organization;  and  even  if  he  does  not  dislike  the  work, 
he  may  well  object  to  the  society  with  which  he  is  thrown  in  these 
lower  political  strata.  A  fourth  and  perhaps  the  principal  item 
comes  in  here.  In  its  lowest  departments  politics  can  be  made  to 
yield  a  pecuniary  return,  and  for  this  reason  attracts  undesirable 
and  perhaps  unscrupulous  elements  whose  mere  co-operation  is 
enough  to  disgust  better  men  and  to  give  the  purely  political  career 
a  lower  status  in  public  opinion  than  might  be  expected  in  such  a 
thoroughly  political  community. 

This  question  of  the  pecuniary  income  from  political  sources  is 
even  by  the  Americans  themselves  seldom  fairly  treated.  There 
are  three  possible  sources  of  income.  Firstly,  the  representatives 
of  the  people  are  directly  remunerated;  secondly,  the  politician 
may  obtain  a  salaried  federal,  state,  or  municipal  office;  and, 
thirdly,  he  may  misuse  his  influence  or  his  office  unlawfully  to  en- 
rich himself.  It  is  a  regrettable  fact  that  the  first  source  of  revenue 
attracts  a  goodly  number  into  politics.  It  is  not  the  case  with 
Congress,  but  many  a  man  sits  in  the  state  legislatures  who  is 
there  only  for  the  salary,  while  in  reality  the  monetary  allowance 
was  never  meant  as  an  inducement  but  as  a  compensation,  since 
otherwise  many  would  be  deterred  altogether  from  politics.  But 
the  stipend  is  small  and  attracts  no  one  who  has  capacity  enough 
to  earn  more  in  a  regular  profession.  It  attracts,  however,  all 
kinds  of  forlorn  and  ill-starred  individuals,  who  then  scramble  in- 
to local  politics  and  do  their  best  to  bring  the  calling  into  disrepute. 
And  yet,  after  all,  these  are  so  small  a  fraction  of  the  politicians  as 
to  be  entirely  negligible.  There  would  be  much  worse  evils  if  the 
salaries  were  to  be  abolished.  There  are  others  who  make  money 
in  criminal  ways,  and  of  course  they  have  ample  opportunity  for 
deception,  theft,  and  corruption  in  both  town  and  country.  Their 
case  is  not  open  to  any  difference  of  opinion.  It  is  easy  for  a 
member  of  the  school  committee  to  get  hold  of  the  land  on  which 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  59 

the  next  school-house  is  to  be  built,  and  to  sell  it  at  a  profit;  or  for 
a  mayor  to  approve  a  street-car  line  which  is  directly  for  the  ad- 
vantage of  his  private  associates;  or  for  a  captain  of  police  to  ac- 
cept hush  money  from  unlawful  gambling  houses.  Everybody 
knows  that  this  sort  of  thing  is  possible,  and  that  the  perpetrators 
can  with  difficulty  be  convicted,  yet  they  occasionally  are  and  then 
get  the  punishment  which  they  deserve.  But  this  is  no  more  a 
part  of  the  political  system  than  the  false  entries  of  an  absconding 
cashier  are  a  part  of  banking.  And  even  if  every  unproved  sus- 
picion of  dishonesty  were  shown  to  be  well  founded,  the  men  who 
so  abuse  their  positions  would  be  as  much  the  exceptions  as  are 
those  who  enter  politics  for  the  sake  of  the  salary.  We  shall  re- 
turn later  to  these  excrescences. 

Of  the  three  sources  of  income  from  politics,  only  one  remains  to 
be  considered  —  the  non-legislative  but  salaried  offices  with 
which  the  politician  may  be  rewarded  for  his  pains.  This  is  the 
first  and  surest  means  by  which  the  party  keeps  its  great  and  in- 
dispensable army  of  retainers  contentedly  at  work.  And  here  the 
familiar  evils  enter  in  which  are  so  often  held  up  for  discussion  in 
Germany.  An  American  reformer,  in  criticizing  the  condition  of 
the  parties,  is  very  apt  not  to  distinguish  between  the  giving  out 
of  offices  to  professional  politicians  as  rewards  and  the  later  cor- 
rupt using  of  these  offices  by  their  incumbents.  And  as  soon  as 
the  politician  receives  an  income  from  the  public  treasury,  the 
reformer  will  cry  "stop  thief."  The  so-called  "spoils  system/' 
by  which  the  federal  offices  in  the  patronage  of  the  President  are 
distributed  to  those  who  have  worked  hardest  in  the  interests  of 
the  victorious  party,  will  occupy  our  attention  when  we  come  to 
the  political  problems  of  the  day.  We  shall  have  then  to  mention 
the  advantages  and  disadvantages  of  civil  service  reform.  But  it 
must  be  said  right  here  that,  however  commendable  this  reform 
movement  may  be  in  many  respects,  and  in  none  more  than  in  the 
increased  efficiency  which  it  has  effected  in  the  public  service, 
nevertheless  the  spoils  system  cannot  be  called  dishonourable,  and 
no  one  should  characterize  professional  politicians  as  abominable 
reprobates  because  they  are  willing  to  accept  civil  positions  as  re- 
wards from  the  party  for  which  they  have  laboured. 

It  is  a  usage  which  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  corrupt  exploita- 
tion of  office,  and  the  German  who  derives  from  it  the  favourite 


60  THE  AMERICANS 

prejudice  against  the  political  life  of  the  United  States  must  not 
suppose  that  he  has  thereby  justified  the  German  conception  of 
office.  Quite  on  the  contrary,  no  one  ever  expects  the  German 
government  to  bestow  offices,  titles,  or  orders  on  members  of  the 
political  opposition,  to  confirm,  for  instance,  an  independent  for  the 
position  of  Landrat  or  a  social  democrat  for  city  councillor,  while 
co-operation  in  the  plans  of  the  government  never  goes  unreward- 
ed. Above  all,  a  German  never  looks  on  his  official  salary  as  a 
sort  of  present  taken  from  the  public  treasury,  but  as  the  ordinary 
equivalent  of  the  work  which  he  does,  while  the  American  has  a 
curious  conception  of  the  matter  quite  foreign  to  the  German, 
which  is  the  ground  for  his  contempt  of  the  "  spoils  system."  To 
illustrate  by  a  short  example :  a  state  attorney  who  had  been  elected 
to  the  same  office  time  after  time,  was  asked  to  renew  his  can- 
didacy at  the  coming  elections.  But  he  declined  to  do  so,  and  ex- 
plained that  he  had  been  supported  for  twenty  years  out  of  the 
public  funds,  and  that  it  was  therefore  high  time  for  him  to  earn 
his  own  living  by  the  ordinary  practice  of  law.  A  German  cannot 
understand  this  conception,  traditional  though  it  is  in  America, 
but  he  can  easily  see  that  the  man  who  shares  such  views  as  to  pub- 
lic salaries  will  naturally  consider  it  an  act  of  plunder  when  the 
party  in  power  distributes  the  best  public  posts  to  its  own  followers. 

The  case  would  be  somewhat  different  if  the  politicians  who  step 
into  offices  were  essentially  incapable  or  indolent,  though  this  is 
aside  from  the  principle  in  question.  Germans  have  recently  be- 
come used  to  seeing  a  general  or  a  merchant  become  minister.  In 
America  it  is  a  matter  of  course  that  a  capable  man  is  qualified, 
with  the  aid  of  technically  trained  subordinates,  for  any  office. 
And  no  one  denies  that  politicians  make  industrious  office-holders. 
And  yet  the  same  remarkable  charge  is  always  made,  that  the 
holder  of  an  office  receives  a  gift  from  the  public  chest. 

These  considerations  are  not  meant  as  an  argument  against  civil 
service  reform,  which  is  supported  by  the  best  men  of  both  parties, 
although  they  are  not  exactly  the  most  zealous  party  "heelers." 
But  the  superficial  assertion  must  be  refuted,  that  the  spoils  sys- 
tem shows  lack  of  morality  in  party  politics.  No  unprejudiced 
observer  would  find  anything  improper  in  the  attitude  of  those  who 
endure  the  thankless  and  arduous  labours  imposed  by  the  party 
for  the  sake  of  a  profitable  position  in  the  government  service.  It 


POLITICAL  PARTIES  61 

would  be  equally  just  to  reproach  the  German  official  with  lack  of 
character  because  he  rises  to  a  high  position  in  the  service  of  the 
government.  If  this  were  the  true  idea,  Grover  Cleveland,  who 
has  done  more  than  any  other  president  for  the  cause  of  civil  ser- 
vice reform,  could  be  said  actually  to  have  favored  the  spoils 
system.  In  an  admirable  essay  on  the  independence  of  the  ex- 
ecutive, he  says : — 

"I  have  no  sympathy  with  the  intolerant  people  who,  without 
the  least  appreciation  of  the  meaning  of  party  work  and  service, 
superciliously  affect  to  despise  all  those  who  apply  for  office  as 
they  would  those  guilty  of  a  flagrant  misdemeanor.  It  will  indeed 
be  a  happy  day  when  the  ascendancy  of  party  principles  and  the 
attainment  of  wholesome  administration  will  be  universally  re- 
garded as  sufficient  rewards  of  individual  and  legitimate  party 
service.  ...  In  the  meantime  why  should  we  indiscrimin- 
ately hate  those  who  seek  office  ?  They  may  not  have  entirely 
emancipated  themselves  from  the  belief  that  the  offices  should  pass 
with  party  victory,  but  in  all  other  respects  they  are  in  many  in- 
stances as  honest,  as  capable,  and  as  intelligent  as  any  of  us." 

There  are  such  strong  arguments  for  separating  public  office 
from  the  service  of  party,  that  every  reformer  is  amply  justified  if 
on  his  native  soil  he  stigmatizes  the  present  usage  as  corrupt.  But 
the  representation  that  all  professional  politicians  are  despicable 
scamps  because  they  work  for  their  party  in  the  hope  of  being  pre- 
ferred for  public  office,  is  unjust  and  misleading  when  it  is  spread 
abroad  in  other  countries.  Abuses  there  are,  to  be  sure,  and  the 
situation  is  such  as  to  attract  swarms  of  worthless  persons.  It  is 
true,  moreover,  that  even  in  the  higher  strata  of  professional  poli- 
tics there  is  usually  less  of  broad-minded  statesmanship  than  of  in- 
genious compromise  and  clever  exploitation  of  the  opposing  par- 
ty's weaknesses  and  of  popular  whims  and  prejudices.  Petty 
methods  are  often  more  successful  than  enlightened  ones,  and 
cunning  men  have  better  chances  than  those  who  are  more  high- 
minded.  In  the  lower  strata,  moreover,  where  it  is  important  to 
cajole  the,  voting  masses  into  the  party  fold,  it  may  be  inevitable 
that  men  undertake  and  are  rewarded  for  very  questionable  ser- 
vices. Nevertheless  the  association  of  party  and  office  is  not  in- 
trinsically improper. 

In  the  same  category  of  unjust  reproaches,  finally,  belongs  the 


62  THE  AMERICANS 

talk  over  the  money  paid  into  the  party  treasury.  It  is,  of  course, 
true  that  the  elections  both  great  and  small  eat  up  vast  sums  of 
money;  the  mountains  of  election  pamphlets,  the  special  trains  for 
candidates  who  journey  from  place  to  place  in  order  to  harangue 
the  people  at  every  rural  railway  station,  from  the  platform  of  the 
coach  —  Roosevelt  is  said  at  the  last  election  in  this  way  to  have 
addressed  three  million  persons  — the  banquet-halls  and  bands  of 
music,  and  the  thousand  other  requisites  of  the  contest  are  not  to 
be  had  for  nothing.  It  is  taken  as  a  matter  of  course  that  the  sup- 
porters of  the  party  are  taxed,  and  of  course  just  those  will  be  apt 
to  contribute  who  look  for  further  material  benefit  in  case  of  vic- 
tory; it  is  also  expected  that,  of  course,  the  larger  industries  will 
help  the  propaganda  of  the  high-tariff  party,  that  the  silver  mine 
owners  will  generously  support  bi-metallism,  and  that  the  beer 
brewers  will  furnish  funds  when  it  is  a  question  between  them  and 
the  Prohibitionists.  But  in  the  endeavour  to  hurt  the  opposing 
party  some  persons  make  such  contributions  a  ground  of  despica- 
ble slander.  Any  one  who  considers  the  matter  really  without 
prejudice  will  see  not  only  that  the  American  party  politics  are  a 
necessary  institution,  but  also  that  they  are  infinitely  cleaner  and 
better  than  the  European  newspaper  reader  will  ever  be  inclined 
to  believe. 


CHAPTER  THREE 

The  President 

THE  President  of  the  United  States  is  elected  by  the  people 
every  four  years.  He  may  be  re-elected  and,  so  far  as  the 
Constitution  provides,  he  may  hold  the  first  position  in  the 
land  for  life,  by  terms  always  of  four  years  at  a  time.  A  certain 
unwritten  law,  however,  forbids  his  holding  office  for  more  than 
two  terms.  George  Washington  was  elected  for  two  terms,  and 
after  him  Thomas  Jefferson,  James  Madison,  James  Monroe,  An- 
drew Jackson,  Abraham  Lincoln,  Ulysses  Grant,  Grover  Cleve- 
land, and  William  McKinley;  that  is,  nine  out  of  twenty  presi- 
dents have  received  this  distinction.  No  president  has  served  a 
third  term  of  office,  because  since  Washington  declined  to  be 
nominated  for  a  third  time  the  conservative  sense  of  the  Ameri- 
cans has  cherished  the  doctrine  that  no  man  should  stand  at  the 
helm  of  the  nation  longer  than  eight  years. 

At  the  present  day  it  is  urged  from  many  sides  that  the  pro- 
visions of  the  Constitution  ought  to  be  changed.  It  is  said  that 
the  frequently  recurring  presidential  elections,  with  the  popular 
excitement  which  they  involve  during  the  months  immediately 
preceding,  are  an  appreciable  disturbance  to  economic  life  and 
that  the  possibility  of  being  re-elected  is  too  apt  to  make  the 
President  in  the  first  term  of  office  govern  his  actions  with  an  eye 
to  his  second  election.  It  is  proposed,  therefore,  that  every  Presi- 
dent shall  be  elected  for  six  years  and  that  re-election  shall  be  for- 
bidden by  the  Constitution.  Experience  of  the  past,  however, 
hardly  speaks  for  such  a  plan.  The  inclination  shown  by  the 
President  to  yield  to  popular  clamours  or  the  instances  of  his 
party  has  been  very  different  with  different  presidents,  but  on  the 
whole  it  has  not  been  noticeably  greater  in  the  first  than  in  the 
second  term  of  office.  More  especially,  the  disadvantages  which 


64  THE  AMERICANS 

come  from  the  excitement  over  elections  are  certainly  made  up 
for  by  the  moral  advantage  which  the  act  of  election  brings  to  the 
people.  The  presidential  election  is  a  period  of  considerable 
reflection  and  examination  of  the  country's  condition,  and  every- 
body is  worked  up  to  considerable  interest;  and  the  more  change- 
able the  times  are  so  much  the  more  rapidly  new  problems  come 
up.  Therefore  there  should  be  no  thought  of  putting  the  decisive 
public  elections,  with  their  month-long  discussions,  at  further  inter- 
vals apart. 

The  most  important  duties  and  prerogatives  of  the  President 
involve  foreign  as  well  as  domestic  affairs,  and  of  the  latter  the 
most  important  concern  the  administration;  a  less  important,  al- 
though by  no  means  an  insignificant,  part  of  his  duties  relates  to 
legislation.  The  President  is  commander-in-chief  of  the  army 
and  of  the  navy,  and  with  the  approval  of  a  majority  of  the  Senate 
he  appoints  ambassadors,  consuls,  judges  of  the  Supreme  Court, 
and  all  the  higher  federal  officials.  Subject  to  the  ratification  of 
two-thirds  of  the  Senate,  he  concludes  treaties  with  foreign  powers 
and  regulates  diplomatic  relations.  He  has,  moreover,  the  right 
to  send  back  inside  of  ten  days,  with  his  veto,  any  bill  which  Con- 
gress has  passed,  and  in  this  case  the  bill  can  become  law  only  by 
being  once  more  voted  on  by  Congress  and  receiving  in  both 
houses  a  two-third's  majority.  The  President  has  the  power  to 
convene  both  houses  in  special  sessions,  and  is  expected  to  send 
messages  to  both  houses  when  they  meet,  in  which  he  describes 
the  political  situation  of  the  country  and  recommends  new  meas- 
ures. In  addition  to  this  he  has  the  right  of  pardon  and  the  right 
to  afford  protection  to  individual  states  against  civil  violence,  if 
they  cannot  themselves  quell  the  disturbance. 

Such  are  the  principal  features  of  the  presidential  office,  and  it 
is  clear  that  here  as  everywhere  in  American  civil  law  the  spirit  of 
precaution  has  tried  from  the  outset  to  limit  the  possibilities  of 
abuse.  Although  he  is  commander-in-chief  of  the  army,  the 
President  has  not  the  right  to  declare  war,  this  right  being  given 
to  Congress.  The  President  negotiates  with  foreign  representa- 
tives and  signs  all  treaties,  but  these  are  not  valid  until  the  Senate 
has  approved  them  with  a  two-thirds  vote.  He  nominates  gov- 
ernment officials,  but  once  again  only  with  the  sanction  of  the 
Senate.  The  President  convenes  Congress  and  recommends  mat- 


THE  PRESIDENT  65 

ters  for  its  legislative  consideration,  but  the  President  cannot,  like 
the  German  Government,  lay  bills  before  Congress  for  its  ratifi- 
cation. While  the  President  sends  his  message  to  Congress  his 
ministers  have  not,  as  in  Germany,  a  seat  in  parliament,  and  can- 
not, therefore,  in  the  debates  actively  support  the  President's 
policy. 

The  President  is  authorized  to  veto  any  bill  that  is  passed 
through  Congress,  but  his  veto  is  not  final  since  the  bill  can  still  be- 
come a  law  if  Congress  is  sufficiently  of  one  accord  to  override  his 
veto.  Therefore  a  whimsical  or  arbitrary  president  would  find 
small  scope  for  his  vagaries  so  long  as  he  keeps  within  his  powers, 
while  if  he  exceeds  them  he  can  be  impeached,  like  a  king 
under  old  English  law.  The  House  of  Representatives  can  at  any 
time  file  complaint  against  the  President  if  he  is  suspected  of 
treason  or  corruption  or  any  other  crime.  In  such  case  the  Senate, 
under  the  chairmanship  of  a  judge  of  the  Supreme  bench,  con- 
stitutes a  court  of  trial  which  is  empowered  to  depose  the  Presi- 
dent from  office.  Up  to  the  present  time  but  one  president, 
Andrew  Johnson,  has  been  impeached,  and  he  was  acquitted. 
The  seditionary  ambition  of  a  man  who  should  try  to  gain  com- 
plete control,  to  overthrow  the  Constitution,  and  at  the  head  of  the 
army,  or  of  the  populace,  or,  as  might  be  more  likely,  of  the  million- 
aires, to  institute  a  monarchy,  would  have  no  chance  of  success. 
Neither  a  Napoleon  nor  a  Boulanger  would  be  possible  in  America. 

In  spite  of  these  provisions,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  tremendous 
power  is  in  the  hands  of  this  one  man.  Thousands  and  thousands 
of  officials  appointed  by  his  predecessor  can  be  removed  by  a 
stroke  of  his  pen,  and  none  can  take  their  places  except  those 
whom  he  nominates.  And  he  can  put  a  barrier  before  any  law 
such  as  Congress  could  only  in  exceptional  cases  ride  over.  Cleve- 
land, for  instance,  who  to  be  sure  made  the  freest  use  of  his  au- 
thority in  this  respect,  vetoed  more  than  three  hundred  bills,  and 
only  twice  did  Congress  succeed  in  setting  aside  his  veto.  The 
President  may  negotiate  with  foreign  powers  up  to  the  point 
where  a  loyal  and  patriotic  Congress  has  hardly  any  choice 
but  to  acquiesce.  The  President  can  virtually  force  Congress  to 
a  declaration  of  war,  and  if  insurrection  breaks  out  in  any  state  he 
can  at  his  pleasure  employ  the  federal  troops  on  behalf  of  one  or 
the  other  faction,  and  when  war  has  once  been  declared  the 


66  THE  AMERICANS 

presidential  authority  grows  hourly  in  importance.  The  army 
and  navy  stand  under  his  direction,  and  since  the  Constitution 
makes  him  responsible  for  the  maintenance  of  law  and  order  in 
the  country  he  becomes  virtually  dictator  in  case  of  an  insurrection. 
Bryce  says  very  justly  that  Abraham  Lincoln  exercised  more  power 
than  any  man  in  England  since  Oliver  Cromwell,  and  the  anti- 
imperialistic  papers  of  America  always  assert  that  in  their  Philip- 
pine policy  McKinley  and  Roosevelt  have  taken  on  themselves 
more  authority  than  any  European  monarch,  excepting  the  Czar, 
could  acquire. 

In  two  respects  the  President  is  more  important  as  compared 
with  the  representatives  of  the  people,  even  in  times  of  peace,  than 
the  king  of  England  or  the  President  of  France.  Firstly,  his  cab- 
inet is  entirely  independent  of  the  voice  of  parliament,  and  it  has 
often  been  the  case  that  while  a  majority  in  Congress  sharply  op- 
posed the  party  policy  of  the  President,  this  has  not  influenced  the 
composition  of  his  cabinet.  The  cabinet  ministers  are  the  rep- 
resentatives of  the  presidential  policy,  and  they  do  not  even  take 
part  in  the  doings  of  Congress. 

Secondly,  the  President  is  not  less  but  rather  more  than  Con- 
gress a  representative  of  the  people.  A  monarch  who  takes  up  a 
position  against  the  parliament  thereby  antagonizes  the  people. 
The  President  of  France  is  elected  by  the  people,  but  only  through 
their  parliamentary  representatives;  the  chambers  elect  him,  and 
therefore  he  is  not  an  independent  authority.  The  President  of 
the  United  States,  on  the  other  hand,  is  in  his  own  person  a  symbol 
of  the  collective  will  of  the  people,  as  opposed  to  the  different 
members  of  Congress,  which  is  of  diverse  composition  and  chosen 
on  more  local  issues.  There  is  moral  authority,  therefore,  vested 
in  the  President.  He  is  the  true  will  of  the  people  and  his  veto  is 
their  conscience.  It  is  almost  astonishing  that  a  Republican 
democracy  shpuld  have  put  such  tremendous  power  into  the  hands 
of  a  single  man.  It  is  the  more  striking  inasmuch  as  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence  related  at  length  the  sins  of  the  English  mon- 
arch. But  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  the  framers  of  the  Consti- 
tution had  to  make  a  new  and  dangerous  experiment,  wherein 
they  were  much  more  afraid  of  that  so  far  unknown  and  incal- 
culable factor,  the  rule  of  the  people,  than  the  power  of  that  single 
person  whose  administrative  possibilities  they  had,  in  the  colonial 


THE  PRESIDENT  67 

days,  been  able  to  observe  in  the  governors  of  the  several  states. 
These  had  been  diminutive  but,  on  the  whole,  encouraging  ex- 
amples. Before  all  else  the  great  and  incomparable  George 
Washington,  the  popular,  dashing,  and  yet  cautious  aristocrat, 
had  presided  at  the  deliberations  in  which  the  Constitution  was 
discussed,  and  had  himself  stood  tangibly  before  the  popular 
mind  as  the  very  ideal  of  a  president. 

Thus  the  President  stands  with  tremendous  powers  at  the  helm 
of  the  nation.  Who  has  sought  him  out  for  this  position  from  the 
hundreds  of  thousands,  whose  hot  ambition  has  led  them  to  dream 
of  such  a  distinction,  and  who  has  finally  established  him  in 
this  highest  elective  office  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ?  The  Consti- 
tution makes  no  other  provision  for  the  selection  of  a  candidate 
than  that  he  shall  have  been  born  in  the  land,  that  he  shall  be  at 
least  thirty-five  years  old,  and  shall  have  resided  at  least  fourteen 
years  in  this  his  native  country.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Consti- 
tutional provisions  for  his  election  are  highly  complicated,  much 
more  so  indeed  than  the  circumstances  really  call  for.  In  fact, 
while  the  electoral  procedures  still  comply  with  the  wording  of  the 
original  Constitution,  actual  conditions  have  so  changed  since  the 
establishment  of  the  Union  that  the  prescribed  machinery  is  not 
only  partly  unnecessary,  but  in  some  cases  even  works  in  opposi- 
tion to  what  had  been  originally  intended,  and  inconsistently  with 
itself.  The  law  requires,  merely  to  mention  the  main  point,  that 
every  state  shall  elect  by  popular  vote  a  certain  number  of  men 
who  are  called  electors,  and  that  a  majority  of  the  electors  shall 
choose  the  President.  For  each  state  the  number  of  electors  is 
the  same  as  that  of  the  representatives  which  it  sends  to  both 
houses  of  Congress  together;  it  depends,  therefore,  on  the  number 
of  inhabitants.  Out  of  the  447  electors,  36  come  from  the  State 
of  New  York,  32  from  Pennsylvania,  24  from  Illinois,  23  from 
Ohio,  15  from  Massachusetts,  but  only  4  from  Colorado,  Florida, 
or  New  Hampshire;  and  only  3  from  Delaware,  Idaho,  North 
Dakota,  Utah,  and  several  others.  In  case  the  vote  of  the  electors 
should  give  no  absolute  majority  to  any  candidate,  the  House  of 
Representatives  has  to  elect  the  President  from  among  the  three 
candidates  who  have  received  the  greatest  number  of  electoral  votes. 

The  intention  of  the  men  who  framed  the  Constitution  in  mak- 
ing these  roundabout  electoral  provisions  is  clear  enough;  the 


68  THE  AMERICANS 

election  was  not  meant  to  be  made  directly  by  the  people.  When 
in  the  first  discussions  of  the  Constitution  it  was  suggested  that 
the  President  be  elected  directly  by  the  people,  some  of  the  framers 
called  the  scheme  chimerical  and  others  called  it  impracticable. 
Indeed,  some  even  doubted  whether  the  people  would  be  com- 
petent to  choose  the  electors  since,  it  was  said,  they  would  know 
too  little  about  the  persons  and  so  would  be  liable  to  grave  errors. 
This  mistrust  went  so  far,  it  is  said,  that  leaving  the  election  of  the 
highest  executives  directly  to  the  people  seemed  as  unnatural 
as  asking  a  blind  man  to  match  colors.  The  first  plan  which  was 
at  all  approved  by  the  Assembly  was  that  Congress  should  elect 
the  President;  and  not  until  later  did  it  adopt  the  system  of  elect- 
ors. It  was  hoped  that  for  the  electoral  college  the  people  would 
select  the  best,  most  experienced,  and  most  cautious  men  of  the 
country,  and  that  these  men  should  be  left  quite  free  to  choose  the 
highest  executive  as  carefully  and  conscientiously  as  possible :  and 
so  it  really  happened  when  the  electors  met  for  the  first  time  and 
fixed  unanimously  on  George  Washington. 

But  the  situation  is  somewhat  changed  to-day:  for  a  hundred 
years  it  has  been  the  case  that  the  electors  have  inevitably  been 
deprived  of  all  free  choice.  They  are  as  passive  as  a  printed  ballot. 
They  are  no  longer  elected  in  order  to  come  to  a  decision  as  to  the 
best  President,  but  merely  to  vote  for  this  or  that  special  candidate 
as  designated,  and  for  a  hundred  years  not  a  single  elector  has  dis- 
appointed this  expectation.  Thus  the  election  of  the  President 
is  practically  accomplished  on  the  day  in  November  when  the 
electors  are  voted  for.  McKinley  defeated  Bryan  for  the  Presi- 
dency on  the  ninth  of  November,  1900,  although  no  elector  had 
officially  voted  for  either  one  or  the  other;  nor  would  he  have  a 
chance  to  vote  until  the  first  day  of  January,  when  he  was  mechani- 
cally to  deposit  his  ballot. 

The  indirect  election  prescribed  by  the  Constitution  has  there- 
fore become  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  direct  one,  and  the  whole 
machinery  of  electors  is  really  superfluous.  It  may,  indeed,  be 
said  to  have  become  contradictory  in  itself. 

Since  the  original  intention  to  make  an  electoral  college  of  the 
best  citizens  has  been  frustrated  by  the  popular  spirit  of  self- 
determination,  the  electoral  apparatus  can  have  to-day  no  other 
significance  than  to  give  expression  to  the  voice  of  the  majority. 


THE  PRESIDENT  69 

But  now  just  this  it  is  in  the  power  of  the  electoral  system  com- 
pletely to  suppress.  Let  us  suppose  that  only  two  candidates 
are  in  question.  If  the  election  were  simply  a  direct  one,  of  course 
that  candidate  would  win  who  received  the  most  votes;  but  with 
electors  this  is  not  the  case,  because  the  number  of  electors  who 
are  pledged  to  vote  for  these  two  candidates  need  not  at  all  cor- 
respond to  the  number  of  ballots  cast  on  the  two  sides.  If  in  the 
State  of  New  York,  for  instance,  three-fifths  of  the  population  are 
for  the  first  candidate  and  two-fifths  for  the  second,  the  three- 
fifths  majority  determines  the  whole  list  of  36  electors  for  the  first 
candidate,  and  not  an  elector  would  be  chosen  for  the  other.  Now 
it  can  very  well  happen  that  a  candidate  in  those  states  in  which  he 
secures  all  the  electors  will  have  small  majorities,  that  is,  his  op- 
ponent will  have  large  minorities,  while  his  opponent  in  the  states 
which  vote  for  him  will  have  large  majorities;  and  in  this  way  the 
majority  of  electors  will  be  pledged  for  that  candidate  who  has  re- 
ceived actually  the  smaller  number  of  votes.  It  is  a  fact  that  both 
Hayes  in  1877  and  Harrison  in  1889  were  constitutionally  elected 
for  the  Presidency  by  a  minority  of  votes. 

While  in  form  the  voters  choose  only  the  electors  from  their 
state,  nevertheless  these  ballots  thus  actually  count  for  a  certain 
candidate.  At  the  last  election  292  electors  voted  for  McKinley, 
and  155  for  Bryan,  while  for  the  McKinley  electors  832,280  more 
votes  were  cast  than  for  the  Bryan  electors.  We  have  already 
seen  how  it  is  that  the  best  man  will  no  longer,  as  in  Washington's 
time,  be  unequivocally  elected  by  the  people,  and  why,  although 
a  unanimous  choice  of  President  has  not  taken  place  since 
Washington's  time,  nevertheless  no  more  than  two  candidates  are 
ever  practically  in  question.  It  was  for  this  that  we  have  dis- 
cussed the  parties  first.  The  parties  are  the  factor  which  makes 
it  impossible  for  a  President  to  be  elected  without  a  contest,  and 
which,  as  early  as  1797,  when  the  successor  of  Washington  had  to 
be  nominated,  divided  the  people  in  two  sections,  the  supporters 
of  Jefferson  and  of  Adams.  At  the  same  time,  however,  the  par- 
ties prevent  the  division  from  going  further,  and  bring  it  about 
that  this  population  of  millions  of  people  compactly  organizes  it- 
self for  Presidential  elections  in  only  two  groups,  so  that  although 
never  less  than  two,  still  never  more  than  two  candidates  really 
step  into  the  arena. 


70  THE  AMERICANS 

For  both  great  parties  alike,  with  their  central  and  local  com- 
mittees, with  their  professional  politicians,  with  their  leaders  and 
their  followers,  whether  engaging  in  politics  out  of  interest  or  in 
hope  of  gain,  as  an  ideal  or  as  sport  —  for  all  alike  comes  the  great 
day  when  the  President  is  to  be  elected.  For  years  previous 
the  party  leaders  will  have  combined  and  dissolved  and  specu- 
lated and  intrigued,  and  for  years  the  friends  of  the  possible  can- 
didates have  spoken  loudly  in  the  newspapers,  since  here,  of 
course,  not  only  the  election  but  also  the  nomination  of  the  candi- 
date depends  on  the  people.  Although  the  election  is  in  Novem- 
ber, the  national  conventions  for  nominating  the  party  candidates 
come  generally  in  July.  Each  state  sends  its  delegation,  number- 
ing twice  as  many  as  the  members  of  Congress  from  that  state,  and 
each  delegation  is  once  more  duly  elected  by  a  convention  of  rep- 
resentatives chosen  by  the  actual  voters  out  of  their  party  lists. 
In  these  national  conventions  the  great  battles  of  the  country 
are  fought,  that  is,  within  the  party,  and  here  the  general  trend  of 
national  politics  is  determined.  It  is  the  great  trial  moment  for 
the  party  and  the  party  heroes.  At  the  last  election  McKinley 
and  Bryan  were  the  opposing  candidates,  and  it  is  interesting  to 
trace  in  their  elections  by  the  respective  conventions  two  great 
types  of  party  decision. 

McKinley  had  grown  slowly  in  public  favour;  he  was  the  ac- 
complished politician,  the  interesting  leader  of  Congress,  the  sym- 
pathetic man  who  had  no  enemies.  When  the  Republican  conven- 
tion met  at  Chicago,  in  1888,  he  was  a  member  of  the  delegation 
from  Ohio  and  was  pledged  to  do  his  utmost  for  the  nomination  of 
John  Sherman.  The  ballots  were  cast  five  different  times  and 
every  time  no  one  candidate  was  found  to  have  a  majority.  On 
the  sixth  trial  one  vote  was  cast  for  McKinley,  and  the  announce- 
ment of  this  vote  created  an  uproar.  A  sudden  shifting  of  the 
opinions  took  place  amid  great  acclamation,  and  the  delegations 
all  went  over  to  him.  He  jumped  up  on  a  stool  and  called  loudly 
through  the  hall  that  he  should  be  offended  by  any  man  who  voted 
for  him  since  he  himself  had  been  pledged  to  vote  for  Sherman. 
Finally  a  compromise  was  found  in  Benjamin  Harrison.  At  the 
convention  in  Minneapolis  four  years  later  McKinley  was  chair- 
man, and  once  more  the  temptation  came  to  him.  The  opponents 
of  Harrison  wished  to  oppose  his  re-election  by  uniting  on  the  Ohio 


THE  PRESIDENT 


i 


statesman,  and  again  it  was  McKinley  himself  who  turned  the 
vote  this  time  in  favour  of  Harrison.  His  own  time  came  finally 
in  1896.  In  the  national  convention  at  St.  Louis  66 1  votes  were 
cast  in  the  first  ballot  for  McKinley,  while  84  were  cast  for 
Thomas  Reed,  61  for  Quay,  58  for  Morton,  and  35  for  Allison. 
And  when,  in  1900,  the  national  convention  met  in  Philadel- 
phia, 926  votes  were  straightway  cast  for  McKinley,  and  none 
opposing.  His  was  the  steady,  sure,  and  deserved  rise  from 
step  to  step  through  tireless  exertions  for  his  party  and  his 
country. 

Bryan  was  a  young  and  unknown  lawyer,  who  had  sat  for  a 
couple  of  years  in  the  House  of  Representatives  like  any  other 
delegate,  and  had  warmly  upheld  bi-metallism.  At  the  Demo- 
cratic national  convention  at  Chicago  in  1896  almost  nobody 
knew  him.  But  it  was  a  curious  crisis  in  the  Democratic  party. 
It  had  been  victorious  four  years  previous  in  its  campaign  for 
Cleveland  against  Harrison,  but  the  party  as  such  had  enjoyed  no 
particular  satisfaction.  The  self-willed  and  determined  Cleveland, 
who  had  systematically  opposed  Congress  tooth  and  nail,  had 
fallen  out  with  his  party  and  nowhere  on  the  horizon  had  appeared 
a  new  leader.  And  after  a  true  statesman  like  Cleveland  had 
come  to  grief,  the  petty  politicians,  who  had  neither  ideas  nor  a 
programme,  came  to  their  own.  Every  one  was  looking  for  a 
strong  personality  when  Bryan  stepped  forth  to  ingratiate  him- 
self and  his  silver  programme  in  the  affections  of  his  party.  His 
arguments  were  not  new,  but  his  catch-words  were  well  studied, 
and  here  at  last  stood  a  fascinating  personality  with  a  forceful 
temperament  which  was  all  aglow,  and  with  a  voice  that  sounded 
like  the  tones  of  an  organ.  And  when  he  cried  out,  "You  must 
not  nail  humanity  to  a  cross  of  gold,"  it  was  as  if  an  omen  had 
appeared.  He  became  at  once  the  Democratic  candidate  for  the 
Presidency,  and  six  months  later  six  and  one-half  million  votes 
were  cast  for  him  against  the  seven  million  for  McKinley.  Nor 
did  the  silver  intoxication  succumb  to  its  first  defeat.  When  the 
Democrats  met  again  in  1900,  all  the  endeavours  of  those  who 
had  adhered  to  a  gold  currency  were  seen  to  be  futile.  Once 
again  the  silver-tongued  Nebraskan  was  carried  about  in  triumph, 
and  not  until  its  second  defeat  did  the  Democratic  party  wake  up. 
Bryanism  is  now  a  dead  issue,  and  before  the  next  Presidential 


72  THE  AMERICANS 

election  the  programme  of  the  Democratic  party  will  be  entirely 
reconstructed. 

Thus  the  presidents  of  the  nation  grow  organically  out  of  the 
party  structure,  and  the  parties  find  in  turn  their  highest  duty  and 
their  reward  in  electing  their  President.  The  people  organized  in 
a  party  and  the  chief  executive  which  that  party  elects  belong  nec- 
essarily together.  They  are  the  base  and  the  summit.  Nothing 
but  death  can  overthrow  the  decision  of  the  people;  death  did 
overthrow,  indeed,  the  last  decision  after  a  few  months,  in  Sep- 
tember, 1901,  when  the  cowardly  assassination  accomplished  by  a 
Polish  anarchist  brought  the  administration  of  McKinley  to  an 
end.  As  the  Constitution  provides,  the  man  whom  the  people 
had  elected  to  the  relatively  insignificant  office  of  Vice-President 
became  master  in  the  White  House. 

The  Vice-Presidency  is  from  the  point  of  view  of  political  logic 
the  least  satisfactory  place  in  American  politics.  Very  early  in 
the  history  of  the  United  States  the  filling  of  this  office  occasioned 
many  difficulties,  and  at  that  time  the  provisions  of  the  Constitu- 
tion referring  to  it  were  completely  worked  over.  The  Constitu- 
tion had  originally  said  that  the  man  who  had  the  second  largest 
number  of  votes  for  the  Presidency  should  become  Vice-President. 
This  was  conceived  in  the  spirit  of  the  time  when  the  two-party 
system  did  not  exist  and  when  it  was  expected  that  the  elector? 
should  not  be  restricted  by  the  voting  public  in  their  choice  of  the 
best  man.  As  soon,  however,  as  the  opposition  between  the  two 
parties  came  into  being,  the  necessary  result  of  such  provision  was 
that  the  presidential  candidate  of  the  defeated  party  should  be- 
come Vice-President,  and  therefore  that  President  and  Vice-Presi- 
dent should  always  represent  diametrically  opposed  tendencies. 
A  change  in  the  Constitution  did  away  with  this  political  impossi- 
bility. Each  elector  was  instructed  to  deposit  separate  ballots 
for  President  and  Vice-President,  and  that  candidate  became 
Vice-President  who  received  the  largest  number  of  votes  for  that 
office,  both  offices  being  thus  invariably  filled  by  candidates  of  the 
same  party. 

In  spite  of  this  the  position  has  developed  rather  unsatisfactorily 
for  an  obvious  reason.  The  Constitution  condemns  the  Vice- 
President,  so  long  as  the  President  holds  office,  to  an  ornamental 
inactivity.  It  is  his  duty  to  preside  at  sessions  of  the  Senate,  a 


THE  PRESIDENT  73 

task  which  he  for  the  most  part  performs  silently,  and  which  has 
not  nearly  the  political  significance  enjoyed  by  the  Speaker  of  the 
House  of  Representatives.  On  the  other  hand,  men  still  in  the 
prime  of  life  are  almost  always  elected  to  the  Presidency;  the  possi- 
bility is  therefore  almost  always  lost  sight  of  that  the  President 
can  die  before  the  expiration  of  his  four  years'  term  of  office.  The 
result  has  been  that  less  distinguished  men,  who  have,  nevertheless, 
served  their  parties,  are  usually  chosen  for  this  insignificant  and 
passive  role.  The  office  is  designed  to  be  an  honour  and  a  con- 
solation to  them,  and  sometimes  for  one  reason  or  another  their 
candidacy  is  supposed  otherwise  to  strengthen  the  outlook  of  the 
party.  It  is  not  accident  that  while  in  the  several  states  the  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor  is  very  often  the  next  man  to  be  elected  Gover- 
nor, it  has  never  so  far  happened  that  a  Vice-President  has  been 
elected  to  the  Presidency. 

Now  in  the  unexpected  event  of  the  President's  death  a  man 
stands  at  the  helm  whom  no  one  really  wants  to  see  there;  and  it 
has  five  times  happened  that  the  chief  executive  of  the  nation  has 
died  in  office,  and  four  times,  indeed,  only  a  few  months  after  being 
installed,  so  that  the  Vice-President  has  had  to  guide  the  destinies 
of  the  country  for  almost  four  years.  When  Tyler  succeeded  to 
the  place  of  Harrison  in  1841,  there  arose  at  once  unfavourable 
disputes  with  the  Whig  party,  which  had  elected  him.  When, 
after  the  murder  of  Lincoln  in  1865,  Johnson  took  the  reins,  it  was 
his  own  Republican  party  which  regretted  having  elected  this  im- 
petuous man  to  the  Vice-Presidency;  and  when,  in  1881,  after  the 
assassination  of  Garfield,  his  successor,  Arthur,  undertook  the 
office,  and  filled  it  indeed  by  no  means  badly,  considerable  con- 
sternation was  felt  throughout  the  country  when  people  saw  that 
so  ordinary  a  professional  politician  was  to  succeed  Garfield,  on 
whom  the  country  had  pinned  its  faith. 

On  the  death  of  McKinley  a  Vice-President  succeeded  him  to- 
ward whom,  in  one  respect  at  least,  the  feeling  was  very  different. 
If  ever  a  man  was  born  to  become  President  that  man  was  Theo- 
dore Roosevelt.  Nevertheless,  he  had  not  been  elected  in  ex- 
pectation of  becoming  President,  and  at  first  the  whole  country 
felt  once  more  that  it  was  a  case  which  had  lain  outside  of  all 
reasonable  calculations.  Roosevelt's  friends  had  asked  him  to 
make  a  sacrifice  and  to  accept  a  thankless  office  because  they 


74  THE  AMERICANS 

knew  that  his  name  on  the  ballot  of  the  Republican  party  —  for  his 
Rough  Rider  reputation  during  the  war  was  still  fresh  —  would  be 
pretty  sure  to  bring  about  the  election  of  McKinley.  The  oppo- 
nents also  of  this  strong  and  energetic  young  man,  against  his  stout- 
est protestations,  upheld  his  candidacy  with  every  means  in  their 
power.  Firstly  because  they  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him  as  Governor 
of  the  State  of  New  York,  where  he  made  life  too  hard  for  the 
regular  politicians,  and  secondly  because  they  relied  on  the  tradi- 
tion that  holding  the  Vice-Presidency  would  invalidate  him  as  a 
Presidential  candidate  in  1904.  Neither  friends  nor  enemies  had 
thought  of  such  a  possibility  as  McKinley's  death.  Roosevelt's 
friends  had  rightly  judged;  the  hero  of  San  Juan  did  bring  victory 
to  his  party.  His  enemies,  on  the  other  hand,  had  entirely  missed 
their  mark  not  only  on  the  outcome,  but  from  the  very  beginning. 
Odell  became  Governor  of  New  York,  and  quite  unexpectedly  he 
stood  out  even  more  stoutly  against  the  political  corruptionists. 
And,  on  the  other  hand,  Roosevelt's  impulsive  nature  quickly 
found  ways  to  break  the  traditional  silence  of  the  Vice-President 
and  to  keep  himself  before  the  eyes  of  the  world.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  in  spite  of  all  traditions  his  incumbency  would  have 
been  a  preparation  for  the  presidential  candidacy.  But  when, 
through  the  crime  committed  at  Buffalo,  everything  came  out  so 
differently  from  that  which  the  politicians  expected,  it  seemed  to 
the  admirers  of  Roosevelt  almost  like  the  tragic  hand  of  fate;  he 
had  done  his  best  to  attain  on  his  own  account  the  Presidency, 
and  now  it  came  to  him  almost  as  the  gift  of  chance.  Only  the 
next  election  may  be  expected  to  do  him  full  justice. 

The  successive  moments  in  his  rapid  rise  are  generally  known. 
Roosevelt  was  born  in  New  York  in  1858,  his  father  being  a  pros- 
perous merchant  and  well-known  philanthropist,  and  a  descend- 
ant of  an  old  Knickerbocker  family.  The  son  was  prepared  for 
college  and  went  to  Harvard,  where  he  made  a  special  study  of 
history  and  political  economy.  After  that  he  travelled  in  Europe, 
and  when  he  was  still  only  twenty-four  years  old,  he  plunged  into 
politics.  He  soon  obtained  a  Republican  seat  in  the  state  legis- 
lature of  New  York,  and  there  commenced  his  tireless  fight  for  re- 
form in  municipal  and  state  administration.  In  1889  President 
Harrison  appointed  him  Commissioner  of  the  Civil  Service,  but 
he  resigned  this  position  in  1895  in  order  to  become  Chief  of  Police 


THE  PRESIDENT  75 

in  New  York.  Only  two  years  later  he  was  once  more  called  from 
municipal  to  national  duties.  He  was  appointed  Assistant  Secre- 
tary of  the  Navy.  All  this  time  his  administrative  duties  did  not 
interrupt  his  literary,  historical,  and  scientific  work.  He  had  be- 
gun his  career  as  an  author  with  his  studies  in  the  history  of  the 
navy  and  his  admirable  biographies  of  American  statesmen. 
When  he  was  thirty  years  old  he  wrote  the  first  part  of  his  great 
work,  "The  Winning  of  the  West,"  and  often  between  the  publi- 
cation of  his  scientific  works  he  published  lesser  books,  describing 
his  adventures  as  huntsman  in  the  primeval  wilderness,  and  later 
on  volumes  in  which  his  social  and  political  essays  were  collected. 

Then  the  Spanish  War  arose  and  the  Assistant  Secretary  could 
not  bear  to  sit  at  his  desk  while  others  were  moving  to  the  field  of, 
battle.  He  gathered  about  him  a  volunteer  regiment  of  cavalry, 
in  which  the  dare-devil  cow-punchers  of  the  prairie  rode  side  by 
side  with  the  adventurous  scions  of  the  most  distinguished  fami- 
lies in  Boston  and  New  York.  Roosevelt's  friend,  Wood,  of  the 
regular  army,  became  Colonel  in  this  soon-famous  regiment,  and 
Roosevelt  himself  Lieutenant-Colonel.  A  few  days  after  they  had 
successfully  stormed  the  hill  at  San  Juan,  Wood  became  General 
and  Roosevelt  Colonel. 

His  native  State  of  New  York  received  him  on  his  home-coming 
with  general  rejoicing,  and  he  found  himself  a  few  months  later 
Governor  of  the  State.  At  Albany  he  showed  tremendous  energy, 
put  through  popular  reforms,  and  fought  against  the  encroach- 
ments of  the  industrial  corporations.  It  had  been  his  personal 
wish  to  be  Governor  for  a  second  year,  but  this  was  denied  him  by 
the  admirable  doings  of  his  Eastern  enemies  and  Western  admir- 
ers at  the  national  convention  of  June,  1900,  held  in  Pennsylvania, 
where  he  was  forced  to  become  candidate  for  the  position  of  Vice- 
President.  On  the  I4th  of  September,  1901,  in  Buffalo,  he  took 
the  Presidential  oath  of  office. 

At  that  time  a  quiet  anxiety  for  the  future  was  mingled  with  the 
honest  sorrow  which  the  whole  land  felt  for  the  death  of  McKinley. 
A  nation  which  had  been  sunning  itself  in  peace  suddenly  found 
itself  under  the  leadership  of  an  impulsive  colonel  of  cavalry,  who 
carried  in  his  hand  the  banner  of  war.  The  nation  was  in  the 
midst  of  an  economic  development  which  needed  before  every- 
thing else  to  have  a  mature  and  careful  leader  who  was  honoured 


76  THE  AMERICANS 

and  trusted  by  all  classes,  and  who  would  be  able  to  effect  some 
work  of  reconciliation  between  them;  when  suddenly  there  stood 
in  the  place  of  a  most  conservative  statesman  an  impetuous  young 
man  who  was  not  intimately  connected  with  industrial  life, 
who  had  for  a  long  time  made  himself  unpopular  with  party  poli- 
ticians, and  whom  even  his  admirers  in  the  land  seemed  hardly  to 
trust  on  account  of  his  hasty  and  determined  impetuosity.  Roose- 
velt had  been  envisaged  by  the  masses,  through  the  cinematograph 
of  the  press,  in  campaign  hat  and  khaki  uniform,  just  in  the  atti- 
tude of  taking  San  Juan  hill.  Nearly  everybody  forgot  that  he  had 
for  a  long  time  quietly  carried  on  the  exacting  labours  of  Police 
Commissioner  in  the  largest  city  of  the  country;  and  forgot  how, 
from  his  first  year  of  study  at  Harvard  on,  every  day  had  been  given 
to  preparing  himself  for  public  service  and  for  acquiring  a  thorough 
understanding  of  all  the  political,  social,  and  economic  problems 
which  the  country  had  to  face;  they  forgot  also  that  he  had  wielded 
the  sword  for  only  a  few  months,  but  the  pen  of  the  historian  for 
about  two  decades.  Roosevelt's  first  public  utterance  was  a  pledge 
to  continue  unchanged  the  peaceful  policy  of  his  predecessor 
and  always  to  consider  the  national  prosperity  and  honour. 
Still,  people  felt  that  no  successor  would  be  able  to  command  that 
experience,  maturity,  and  party  influence  which  McKinley  had 
had. 

There  have  been  differences  of  opinion,  and,  as  was  to  be  ex- 
pected, complaints  and  criticisms  have  come  from  the  midst  of  his 
own  party.  Yet  any  one  who  looks  at  his  whole  administration 
will  see  that  in  those  first  years  Roosevelt  won  a  more  difficult  and 
brilliant  victory  than  he  had  won  over  the  Spanish  troops. 

He  had  three  virtues  which  especially  overcame  all  small  criti- 
cism. The  people  felt,  in  the  first  place,  that  a  moral  force  was 
here  at  work  which  was  more  powerful  than  any  mere  political 
address  or  diplomatic  subtlety.  An  immediate  ethical  force  was 
here  felt  which  owned  to  ideas  above  any  party,  and  set  inner 
ideals  above  merely  outward  success.  Roosevelt's  second  virtue 
was  courage.  A  certain  purely  ethical  ideal  exalted  above  all 
petty  expediencies  was  for  him  not  only  the  nucleus  of  his  own 
creed,  but  was  also  his  spring  of  action;  and  he  took  no  account 
of  personal  dangers.  Here  was  the  key-note  of  all  his  speeches  — 
it  is  not  enough  to  approve  of  what  is  right,  it  is  equally  necessary 


THE  PRESIDENT  77 

to  act  for  it  fearlessly  and  unequivocally.  Then  he  went  on  to  his 
work,  and  if,  indeed,  in  complicated  political  situations  the  Presi- 
dent has  had  at  times  to  clinch  some  points  by  aid  of  compromise, 
nevertheless  the  nation  has  felt  with  growing  confidence  that  at  no 
serious  moment  has  he  wavered  a  hair's  breadth  from  the  straight 
line  of  his  convictions,  and  that  he  has  had  the  courage  to  disre- 
gard everything  but  what  he  held  to  be  right.  And,  thirdly, 
Roosevelt  had  the  virtue  of  being  sincere. 

McKinley  also  had  purposed  to  do  right,  but  he  had  hardly  an 
occasion  for  displaying  great  courage  since  so  incomparably  dis- 
creet a  politician  as  he  was  could  avoid  every  conflict  with  his  as- 
sociates, and  he  was  ever  the  leader  on  highways  which  the  popu- 
lar humour  had  indicated.  Thus  the  masses  never  felt  that  he 
was  at  bottom  lacking  in  courage  or  that  he  always  put  off  re- 
sponsibility on  others.  The  masses  did,  however,  instinctively 
feel  that  McKinley's  astute  and  kindly  words  were  not  always  sin- 
cere; his  words  were  often  there  to  conceal  something  which  was 
locked  up  behind  his  Napoleonic  forehead.  And  now  there  suc- 
ceeded him  an  enthusiast  who  brimmed  over  with  plain  expres- 
sions of  what  he  felt,  and  whose  words  were  so  convincingly  candid 
and  so  without  reservation  that  every  one  had  the  feeling  of  being 
in  the  personal  confidence  of  the  President. 

There  was  a  good  deal  more  besides  his  moral  earnestness,  his 
courage,  and  his  frank  honesty  which  contributed  to  Roosevelt's 
entire  success.  His  lack  of  prejudice  won  the  lower  classes,  and 
his  aristocratic  breeding  and  education  won  the  upper,  while  the 
middle  classes  were  enthusiastic  over  his  sportsmanship.  No  Presi- 
dent had  been  more  unprejudiced  or  more  truly  democratic.  He 
met  the  poor  miner  on  the  same  footing  as  he  met  the  mine  owner; 
he  invited  the  negro  to  the  White  House;  he  sat  down  and  broke 
bread  with  the  cow-boys;  and  when  he  travelled  he  first  shook  the 
sooty  hand  of  the  locomotive  engineer  before  he  greeted  the  gen- 
tlemen who  had  gathered  about  in  their  silk  hats.  And,  neverthe- 
less, he  was  in  many  years  the  first  real  aristocrat  to  become  Presi- 
dent. The  changes  in  the  White  House  itself  were  typical.  This 
venerable  Presidential  dwelling  had  been,  up  to  Roosevelt's  time, 
in  its  inner  arrangements  a  dreary  combination  of  bare  offices, 
somewhat  crudely  decorated  private  dwelling,  and  cheerless  re- 
ception-halls. To-day  it  is  a  very  proper  palace,  containing  many 


78  THE  AMERICANS 

fine  works  of  art,  and  office-seekers  no  longer  have  access  to  the 
inner  rooms.  His  predecessors,  the  Clevelands  and  Harrisons 
and  McKinleys,  had  been,  in  fact,  very  respectable  philistines. 
They  had  come  from  the  middle  classes  of  the  country,  which  are 
in  thought  and  feeling  very  different  from  that  upper  class  which, 
up  to  a  short  time  ago,  had  bothered  itself  less  about  practical 
politics  than  about  general  culture,  literature,  art,  criticism,  and 
broadly  conceived  industrial  operations,  combined  with  social 
high-life.  This  class,  however,  had  begun  at  length  to  feel  that  it 
ought  not  to  disdain  to  notice  political  abuses,  to  walk  around 
the  sea  of  troubles;  but  had  begun  to  take  up  arms  and  by  oppos- 
ing end  them.  Aristocracy  had  too  long  believed  in  political  mer- 
cenaries. 

Roosevelt  was  the  first  to  lift  himself  from  these  circles  and  be- 
come a  great  leader.  Not  alone  the  nobility  of  his  character  but 
also  of  his  culture  and  traditions  was  shown  in  his  entire  habit  of 
mind.  Never  in  his  speeches  or  writings  has  he  cited  that  socially 
equalizing  Declaration  of  Independence,  and  while  his  speeches 
at  banquets  and  small  gatherings  of  scholarly  men  have  been  in- 
comparably more  fascinating  than  his  strenuous  utterances  to 
the  voters,  which  he  has  made  on  his  public  tours,  it  has  been 
often  less  the  originality  of  his  thoughts  and  still  less  the  pecu- 
liarly taking  quality  of  his  delivery,  than  the  evidences  of  ripe 
culture,  which  seem  to  pervade  his  political  thought.  Thus  the 
smaller  the  circle  to  which  he  speaks  the  greater  is  his  advantage; 
and  in  speaking  with  him  personally  on  serious  problems  one  feels 
that  distinction  of  thought,  breadth  of  historical  outlook,  and  con- 
fidence in  self  have  united  in  him  to  create  a  personality  after  the 
grand  manner. 

The  impression  which  Roosevelt  has  made  on  his  own  country 
has  not  been  more  profound  than  his  influence  on  the  galaxy  of 
nations.  At  the  very  hour  when  the  United  States  by  their  economic 
and  territorial  expansion  stepped  into  the  circle  of  world  powers, 
they  had  at  their  head  a  personality  who,  for  the  first  time  in  dec- 
ades, had  been  able  to  make  a  great,  characteristic,  and,  most  of 
all,  a  dramatic  impression  on  the  peoples  of  Europe.  And  if  this 
hour  was  to  be  made  the  most  of  it  was  not  enough  that  this  lead- 
er should  by  his  impulsiveness  and  self-will,  by  his  picturesque 
gestures  and  effective  utterance,  chain  the  attention  of  the  masses 


THE  PRESIDENT  79 

and  excite  all  newspaper  readers,  but  he  must  also  win  the  sym- 
pathies of  the  keener  and  finer  minds,  and  excite  some  sympathetic 
response  in  the  heads  of  monarchies.  A  second  Lincoln  would 
never  have  been  able  to  do  this,  and  just  this  was  what  the  moment 
demanded.  The  nation's  world-wide  position  in  politics  needed 
some  comparable  expansion  in  the  social  sphere.  Other  peoples 
were  to  welcome  their  new  comrades  not  only  in  the  official  bureau 
but  also  in  the  reception-room,  and  this  young  President  had 
always  at  his  command  a  graceful  word,  a  tactful  expedient,  and  a 
distinguished  and  hospitable  address.  He  was,  in  short,  quite  the 
right  man. 

Any  new  person  taking  hold  so  firmly  has  to  disturb  a  good 
many  things;  busied  with  so  much,  he  must  overturn  a  good  deal 
which  would  prefer  to  be  left  as  it  was.  The  honest  man  has  his 
goodly  share  of  enemies.  And  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  Roose- 
velt has  the  failings  of  his  virtues,  and  these  have  borne  their  con- 
sequences. Many  national  dangers,  which  are  always  to  be  feared 
from  officials  of  Roosevelt's  type,  are  largely  obviated  by  the  demo- 
cratic customs  of  the  country.  He  lives  amid  a  people  not  afraid 
to  tell  him  the  whole  truth,  and  every  criticism  reaches  his  ear. 
And  there  is  another  thing  not  less  important:  democracy  forces 
every  man  into  that  line  of  activity  for  which  the  nation  has  elected 
him.  A  somewhat  overactive  mind  like  Roosevelt's  has  opinions 
on  many  problems,  and  his  exceptional  political  position  easily  be- 
trays one  at  first  into  laying  exceptional  weight  on  one's  own  opin- 
ions about  every  subject.  But  here  the  traditions  of  the  country 
have  been  decisive;  it  knows  no  President  for  general  enlighten- 
ment, but  only  a  political  leader  whose  private  opinions  outside  poli- 
tics are  of  no  special  importance.  In  this  as  in  other  respects  Roose- 
velt has  profited  by  experience.  There  is  no  doubt  that  when  he 
came  to  the  White  House  he  underestimated  the  power  of  Senators 
and  party  leaders.  The  invisible  obstructions,  which  were  some- 
how hidden  behind  the  scenes,  have  no  doubt  given  him  many 
painful  lessons.  In  his  endeavour  to  realize  so  many  heartfelt 
convictions,  he  has  often  met  with  arbitrary  opposition  made 
simply  to  let  the  new  leader  feel  that  obstructions  can  be  put  in  his 
way  unless  he  takes  account  of  all  sorts  of  factors.  But  these 
warnings  have  really  done  him  no  harm,  for  Roosevelt  was  not  the 
man  to  be  brought  by  them  into  that  party  subserviency  which  had 


8o  THE  AMERICANS 

satisfied  McKinley.  They  merely  held  him  back  from  that  reck- 
less independence  which  is  so  foreign  to  the  American  party  spirit, 
and  which  in  the  later  years  of  Cleveland's  administration  had 
worked  so  badly.  Indeed,  one  might  say  that  the  outcome  has 
been  an  ideal  synthesis  of  Cleveland's  consistency  and  McKinley's 
power  of  adaptation. 

For  the  fanatics  of  party  Roosevelt  has  been,  of  course,  too  in- 
dependent, while  to  the  opponents  of  party  he  has  seemed  too 
yielding.  Both  of  these  criticisms  have  been  made,  in  many 
different  connections,  since  everywhere  he  has  stood  on  a  watch 
tower  above  the  fighting  lines  of  any  party.  When  in  the  strug- 
gles between  capital  and  labour  he  seriously  took  into  account 
the  just  grievances  of  the  working-man  he  was  denounced  as  a 
socialist.  And  when  he  did  not  at  once  stretch  out  his  hand  to 
demolish  all  corporations  he  was  called  a  servant  of  the  stock  ex- 
change. When  he  appointed  officials  in  the  South  without  refer- 
ence to  their  party  allegiance,  the  Republicans  bellowed  loudly; 
and  when  he  did  not  sanction  the  Southern  outrages  against  the 
negro  the  Democrats  became  furious.  When  everything  is  con- 
sidered, however,  he  has  observed  the  maxim  of  President  Hayes, 
"He  best  serves  his  party  who  serves  his  country  best." 

In  this  there  has  been  another  factor  at  work.  Roosevelt  may 
not  have  had  McKinley's  broad  experience  in  legislative  matters, 
nor  have  known  the  reefs  and  bars  in  the  Congressional  sea,  but 
for  the  executive  office,  for  the  administration  of  civil  service  and 
the  army  and  navy,  for  the  solution  of  federal,  civil,  and  municipal 
problems  his  years  of  study  and  travel  have  been  an  ideal  prepara- 
tion. Behind  his  practical  training  he  has  had  the  clear  eye  of  the 
historian.  The  United  States  had  their  proverbial  good  luck 
when  the  Mephistos  of  the  Republican  party  prevailed  on  the 
formidable  Governor  of  New  York  to  undertake  the  thankless 
office  of  Vice-President.  If  this  nomination  had  gone  as  the  better 
politicians  wished  it  to  go,  the  death  of  McKinley  would  have 
placed  a  typical  politician  at  the  helm  instead  of  the  best  Presi- 
dent which  the  country  has  had  for  many  years. 


The  President  is  closely  associated  with  the  Cabinet,  and  he  is 
entirely  free  in  his  choice  of  advisers.     There  is  no  question  here 


THE  PRESIDENT  81 

of  the  influence  of  majorities  on  the  composition  of  the  ministry, 
as  there  is  in  England  or  France.  In  this  way  Cleveland,  in  his 
second  term,  had  already  announced  by  his  choice  of  cabinet  min- 
isters that  he  should  go  his  own  ways  regardless  of  the  wire-pullers 
of  the  party.  He  gave  the  Secretaryship  of  War  to  his  former 
private  secretary;  the  position  of  Postmaster-General  to  his  former 
partner  in  law;  the  Secretaryship  of  Justice  to  a  jurist  who  had 
never  taken  any  interest  in  politics.  His  Secretary  of  the  Interior 
was  a  personal  friend,  and  the  Secretary  of  Foreign  Affairs  a  man 
who  shortly  before  had  left  the  ranks  of  the  Republican  party  to 
become  a  Cleveland  Democrat.  The  Secretaryships  of  Commerce 
and  the  Treasury  were  the  sole  cabinet  positions  which  were  given 
to  well-known  party  leaders.  The  very  opposite  was  to  have  been 
expected  from  a  man  of  McKinley's  disposition.  Even  when  he 
became  the  chief  executive  of  the  country  he  remained  the  devoted 
servant  of  his  party,  and  just  as  his  success  was  owing  in  large  part 
to  his  sympathetic  relations  with  all  the  important  factions  in  Con- 
gress, so  the  success  of  his  Cabinet  was  due  to  his  having  chosen 
none  but  men  who  had  enjoyed  for  a  long  time  the  confidence  of 
the  party. 

Roosevelt  did  at  the  outset  an  act  of  political  piety  when  he 
left  the  Cabinet,  for  the  time  being,  unchanged.  It  was  at  the 
same  time  a  capital  move  toward  reassuring  public  opinion, 
which  had  stood  in  fear  of  all  sorts  of  surprises,  owing  to  his  im- 
petuous temperament.  Slowly,  however,  characteristic  readjust- 
ments were  made  and  a  new  cabinet  office  was  created  under  his 
administration,  the  Secretaryship  of  Commerce  and  Labour.  This 
was  entrusted  to  Cortelyou,  who  had  been  the  private  secretary  of 
two  presidents,  and  who,  through  his  tact,  discretion,  and  industry, 
had  contributed  not  a  little  to  their  practical  success. 

The  highest  minister  in  order  of  rank  is  the  Secretary  of  State, 
who  is  the  Minister  for  Foreign  Affairs,  and  who,  in  the  case 
that  both  the  President  and  Vice-President  are  unable  to  com- 
plete their  term  of  office,  assumes  the  Presidency.  He  is  re- 
sponsible for  the  diplomatic  and  consular  representation  of  the 
United  States  and  he  alone  negotiates  with  representatives  of 
foreign  powers  at  Washington;  moreover,  it  is  through  him  that 
the  President  treats  with  the  separate  states  of  the  Union.  He 
publishes  the  laws  passed  by  Congress  and  adds  his  signature  to 


82  THE  AMERICANS 

all  of  the  President's  official  papers.  He  is,  next  to  the  President, 
so  thoroughly  the  presiding  spirit  of  the  administration  that  it  is 
hardly  a  mistake  to  compare  him  to  the  Chancellor  of  the  German 
Empire.  It  happens  at  the  moment  that  the  present  incumbent 
makes  this  comparison  still  more  apt,  since  John  Hay,  the  present 
Secretary  of  Foreign  Affairs,  resembles  Count  von  Billow  in  sev- 
eral ways.  Both  have  been  in  former  years  closely  affiliated  to  the 
national  heroes  of  the  century,  both  have  gotten  their  training  in 
various  diplomatic  positions,  both  are  resourceful,  accommodat- 
ing, and  brilliant  statesmen,  and  both  have  a  thoroughly  modern 
temperament,  intellectual  independence  bred  of  a  broad  view  of 
the  world,  both  are  apt  of  speech  and  have  fine  literary  feeling. 
Hay  was  the  secretary  of  President  Lincoln  until  Lincoln's  death, 
and  has  been  secretary  of  the  embassies  in  France,  Austria,  and 
Spain,  has  taken  distinguished  place  in  party  politics,  has  been 
Assistant  Secretary  of  State,  Ambassador  to  England,  and  in  1898 
was  placed  at  the  head  of  foreign  affairs.  His  "  Ballads,"  "  Castil- 
ian  Days,"  and  "Life  of  Lincoln,"  call  to  mind  his  literary  repu- 
tation. 

How  far  foreign  affairs  are  really  conducted  by  the  President 
and  how  far  by  the  Secretary  of  State  is,  of  course,  hard  to  say,  but, 
at  any  rate,  the  representatives  of  foreign  powers  treat  officially 
only  with  the  Secretary,  who  has  his  regular  days  for  diplomatic 
consultation,  so  that  the  relations  of  foreign  representatives  to  the 
President,  after  their  first  official  introduction,  remain  virtually 
social.  Yet  all  important  measures  are  undertaken  only  with  the 
approval  of  the  President,  and  on  critical  questions  of  international 
politics  the  whole  cabinet  deliberates  together.  Hay's  personal 
influence  came  clearly  before  the  public  eye  especially  in  his  ne- 
gotiations regarding  the  Central  American  canal,  and  in  his  han- 
dling of  the  Russian  and  Asiatic  problems.  Particularly  after  the 
Chinese  imbroglio  he  came  to  be  generally  reputed  the  most 
astute  and  successful  statesman  of  the  day.  It  will  probably  not 
be  far  wrong  to  ascribe  such  tendencies  in  American  politics  as  are 
friendly  toward  England  chiefly  to  his  influence.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  is  supposed  to  feel  no  special  leanings  toward  Germany. 

The  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  is  next  in  rank.  He  administers 
the  Federal  finances  to  all  intents  and  purposes  like  a  large  banker, 
or,  rather,  like  a  bank  president  who  should  have  Congress  for  his 


THE  PRESIDENT  83 

board  of  directors.  Since  customs  and  international  revenues  are 
levied  by  the  Federal  Government,  and  not  by  the  several  states, 
and  since  the  expenditures  for  the  army  and  navy,  for  the  postal 
service,  and  for  the  Federal  Government  itself,  the  national  debt 
and  the  mints  come  under  Federal  administration,  financing  op- 
erations are  involved  which  are  so  extensive  as  to  have  a  deciding 
influence  on  the  banking  system  of  the  entire  country. 

The  third  official  in  rank  is  the  Secretary  of  War,  while  the  Sec- 
retary of  the  Navy  holds  only  the  sixth  place,  with  the  Attorney- 
General  and  the  Postmaster-General  in  between.  The  General 
Staff  of  the  Secretary  of  War,  which  was  organized  in  1903,  is  com- 
posed of  officers  of  high  rank,  although  the  Secretary  himself  is  a 
civilian.  In  the  case  of  the  army,  as  well  as  of  the  navy,  the 
functions  of  the  secretary  are  decidedly  more  important  than 
those,  say,  of  a  Prussian  Minister.  They  concern  not  only  ad- 
ministration, but  also,  in  case  of  war,  are  of  decisive  weight  on  the 
movements  of  all  the  forces,  since  the  President  as  commander-in- 
chief  has  to  act  through  these  ministers.  Elihu  Root  was  for  al- 
most five  years  Secretary  of  War;  and  on  his  retirement  in  Jan- 
uary, 1904,  Roosevelt  declared :  "  Root  is  the  greatest  man  who  has 
appeared  in  our  times  in  the  public  life  of  any  country,  either  in 
the  New  World  or  the  Old." 

The  position  of  Attorney-General  is  less  comparable  with  a 
corresponding  office  in  the  German  state.  This  minister  of  the 
President  has  no  influence  on  the  appointment  of  judges  or  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  courts.  The  official  representative  of  justice 
in  the  Cabinet  is  really  an  exalted  lawyer,  who  is  at  the  same 
time  the  President's  legal  adviser.  So  far  as  appointments  to 
office  go,  the  Secretary  of  the  Post  Office  Department  has  prac- 
tically no  influence  regarding  those  who  are  under  him,  since  the 
tremendous  number  of  postal  officials  of  any  considerable  im- 
portance have  to  be  confirmed  in  their  appointments  by  the 
Senate,  so  that  the  appointing  power  has  virtually  gone  over  to 
that  body.  On  the  other  hand,  the  whole  postal  service  is  under 
his  direction;  but  it  is  here  not  to  be  forgotten  that  the  American 
railroads  and,  what  the  German  may  think  more  extraordinary, 
the  telegraph  lines,  are  not  government  property. 

The  Secretary  of  the  Interior  is  merely  a  name  for  a  great  many 
unrelated  administrative  functions.  In  the  long  list  of  duties 


84  ^HE  AMERICANS 

which  fall  to  this  office  comes  education,  although  this  seemingly 
most  important  responsibility  is  really  rather  slight,  since  all  educa- 
tional matters  fall  to  the  separate  states  and  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment has  nothing  to  do  but  to  give  out  statistics  and  information, 
to  collect  material,  and  to  offer  advice.  The  national  Bureau  of 
Education  is  not  empowered  to  institute  any  practical  changes.  A 
much  more  important  function,  practically,  of  the  Secretary  of  the 
Interior  is  the  Pension  Bureau,  since  the  United  States  pay  yearly 
about  $138,000,000  in  pensions.  Other  divisions  are  the  Patent 
Office,  which  grants  every  year  about  30,000  patents,  the  Railroad 
Bureau,  the  Indian  Bureau,  and  the  Geological  Survey.  The 
Secretary  of  Agriculture  has  not  only  certain  duties  connected  with 
agriculture,  but  is  also  in  charge  of  the  Weather  Bureau,  and  of 
zoological,  botanical,  and  chemical  institutes,  and  especially  of 
the  large  number  of  scientific  departments  which  indirectly  serve 
the  cause  of  agriculture.  Last  in  rank  comes  the  recently  created 
Secretary  of  Commerce  and  Labour,  who  has  charge  of  the  Cor- 
poration Bureau,  the  Labour  Bureau,  the  Census  Bureau,  and 
the  Bureaus  of  Statistics,  Immigration,  and  Fisheries. 

There  are  some  240,000  positions  under  the  direction  of  these 
ministers;  and  all  of  these,  from  ambassadors  to  letter-carriers, 
are  in  the  national  service  and  under  the  appointment  of  the 
President,  and  are  entirely  independent  of  the  government  of  the 
separate  states  in  which  the  offices  are  held. 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

Congress 

THERE  is  an  avenue  which  leads  from  the  White  House  in 
a  direct  line  to  the  Capitol,  the  dominating  architectural  fea- 
ture of  Washington.  On  walking  up  the  broad  terraces  one 
comes  first  to  the  great  central  hall,  over  which  rises  the  dome; 
to  the  right  one  passes  through  the  Hall  of  Fame  and  comes  finally 
to  the  uncomfortably  large  parliamentary  chamber,  in  which  386 
Representatives  sit  together  as  the  direct  delegates  of  the  people. 
Going  from  the  central  hall  to  the  left  one  passes  by  the  apart- 
ments of  the  Supreme  Court,  and  comes  finally  to  the  attractive 
room  in  which  the  ninety  state  delegates  hold  their  sessions.  The 
room  on  the  right  is  called  the  "House,"  on  the  left  the  Senate; 
both  together  make  up  Congress,  the  law-giving  body  of  the 
nation.  When  the  thirteen  states  which  first  formed  the  Union 
in  the  year  1778  adopted  the  Articles  of  Federation,  it  was  in- 
tended that  Congress  should  be  a  single  body,  in  which  each  state, 
although  it  might  be  represented  by  a  varying  number  of  members, 
should  nevertheless  have  the  right  to  only  one  vote.  Nine  years 
later,  however,  the  final  Constitution  of  the  United  States  replaced 
this  one  simple  system  by  dividing  Congress  into  Senate  and 
House  of  Representatives,  doing  this  simply  by  analogy  with  the 
traditions  of  the  state  governments.  Pennsylvania  was  the  only 
state  which  had  but  one  legislative  chamber,  while  the  others  had 
taken  over  from  England  the  system  of  double  representation  and 
had  carried  out  the  English  tradition,  although  probably  nothing 
was  further  from  their  intention  than  to  divide  their  legislators 
into  lords  and  commoners. 

For  the  United  States  the  dual  division  inevitably  seemed  the 
shortest  way  to  balance  off  conflicting  requirements.  On  the  one 
side  every  state,  even  the  smallest,  should  have  the  same  preroga- 


86  THE  AMERICANS 

tives  and  equal  influence:  on  the  other  side,  every  citizen  must 
count  as  much  as  every  other,  so  that  the  number  of  inhabitants 
must  be  duly  represented.  It  was  necessary,  therefore,  to  create 
one  chamber  in  which  all  States  should  have  the  same  number  of 
Representatives,  and  another  in  which  every  delegate  should  rep- 
resent an  equal  number  of  voters.  Furthermore,  on  the  one 
hand  a  firm  and  conservative  tradition  was  to  be  built  up,  while 
on  the  other  the  changing  voice  of  the  people  was  to  be  reflected. 
It  was,  therefore,  necessary  to  remove  one  chamber  from  popu- 
lar election  and  leave  it  to  the  appointment  of  the  separate  state 
legislatures.  It  was  also  necessary  to  put  the  age  for  candidacy 
for  this  chamber  high,  and  to  make  the  term  of  office  rather  long, 
and  finally  to  contrive  that  at  any  one  time  only  a  fraction  of  the 
numbers  should  be  replaced,  so  that  a  majority  of  the  members 
could  carry  on  their  work  undisturbed.  The  other  chamber, 
however,  was  to  be  completely  replaced  by  frequent  direct  popu- 
lar elections.  Thus  originated  the  two  divisions  of  Congress 
which  so  contrast  in  every  respect.  A  comparison  with  Euro- 
pean double  legislative  systems  is  very  natural,  and  yet  the 
Senate  is  neither  a  Bundestag,  nor  a  Herrenhaus,  nor  a  House 
of  Lords;  and  the  House  of  Representatives  is  fundamentally  dif- 
ferent from  the  Reichstag.  One  who  wishes  to  understand  the 
American  system  must  put  aside  his  recollections  of  European 
institutions,  since  nothing  except  emphasis  on  the  difference  be- 
tween the  American  and  European  legislatures  will  make  clear 
the  traditions  of  Washington. 

As  has  been  said,  the  Senators  are  representatives  of  the  several 
states;  every  state  sends  two.  The  State  of  New  York,  with  its 
seven  million  inhabitants,  has  no  more  representatives  in  the 
Senate  than  the  State  of  Wyoming,  which  has  less  than  one  hun- 
dred thousand  inhabitants.  Every  Senator  is  elected  for  six 
years  by  the  law-giving  body  of  the  individual  state.  Every  sec- 
ond year  a  third  of  the  Senators  retire,  so  that  the  Senate  as  a  whole 
has  existed  uninterruptedly  since  the  foundation  of  the  Union. 
Curiously  enough,  however,  the  Senators  vote  independently,  and 
thus  it  often  happens  that  the  two  Senators  from  one  State  cast 
opposite  votes.  A  candidate  for  the  Senate  has  to  be  thirty 
years  old. 

The  members  of  the  House  are  elected  every  two  years  and  by 


CONGRESS  87 

direct  popular  vote.  The  number  of  delegates  is  here  not  pre- 
scribed by  the  Constitution.  It  is  constantly  modified  on  the 
basis  of  the  ten-year  census,  since  every  state  is  entitled  to  a  num- 
ber of  delegates  proportionate  to  its  population.  While  there 
were  slaves,  who  could  not  vote,  the  slave  states  nevertheless  ob- 
jected to  the  diminution  in  the  number  of  their  representatives, 
due  to  the  fact  that  the  negro  was  not  considered  an  inhabitant, 
and  it  was  constitutionally  provided  to  compute  the  number  of 
Representatives  on  the  basis  that  every  slave  was  equivalent  to 
three-fifths  of  a  man.  To-day  neither  colour  nor  race  constitution- 
ally affects  the  right  to  vote.  On  the  other  hand,  the  nation  as 
such  does  not  concern  itself  to  consider  who  is  allowed  to  vote,  but 
leaves  this  completely  to  the  different  states,  and  requires  only 
that  for  the  national  elections  in  every  state  the  same  provisions 
are  observed  which  are  made  for  the  elections  to  the  state  legis- 
lature. Moreover,  it  is  left  to  every  state  in  what  wise  it  shall 
choose  the  allotted  number  of  Representatives  at  Washington. 
Thus,  for  instance,  in  those  four  Western  States  in  which  women 
are  allowed  to  vote  for  members  of  the  legislature,  women  have 
also  the  right  to  vote  for  Congressmen. 

The  first  House  of  Representatives  had  65  members,  while 
the  House  of  1902  had  357,  and  the  political  centre  of  gravity 
of  the  country  has  so  shifted  that  the  states  which  originally 
made  up  Congress  send  now  only  137  of  the  members.  The 
number  of  delegates  has  recently  been  increased  to  386.  The 
age  of  candidacy  is  25,  and  while  a  Senator  must  have  lived  in 
the  country  for  nine  years,  only  seven  years  are  required  of  a 
Representative. 

The  differences  in  the  conditions  of  election  are  enough  to  bring 
it  about  that  the  personal  make-up  of  the  two  Houses,  as  had  been 
originally  intended,  give  very  different  impressions.  The  dignity  of 
being  Senator  is  granted  to  but  few,  and  to  these  for  a  long  time, 
and  as  it  is  bestowed  by  that  somewhat  small  circle  of  the  legisla- 
tors of  the  state,  is  naturally  accounted  the  highest  political  honour; 
it  is  thus  desired  by  the  most  successful  leaders  of  public  life  and 
the  most  respected  men  of  the  several  states.  The  ideal  con- 
dition is,  to  be  sure,  somewhat  frustrated,  since  in  reality  the 
members  of  a  state  legislature  are  generally  pledged,  when 
they  themselves  are  elected,  to  support  this  or  that  particular 


88  THE  AMERICANS 

candidate  for  the  Senate.  Thus  the  general  body  of  voters 
exerts  its  influence  after  all  pretty  directly;  and,  moreover,  this 
distinction  depends  not  a  little,  in  the  West  and  especially  in  the 
thinly  populated  states,  on  the  possession  of  great  wealth.  Since, 
however,  in  these  cases  such  wealth  has  generally  been  won  by 
exceptional  energy  and  keen  insight,  even  in  this  way  men  come 
to  Washington  who  are  a  good  deal  above  the  average  voter,  and 
who  represent  the  most  significant  forces  in  American  popular  life 
earnestly,  worthily,  and  intelligently. 

In  the  last  Senate  the  average  age  of  ninety  Senators  was  sixty 
years,  and  seventeen  were  more  than  seventy  years  old.  Sixty- 
one  of  them  were  jurists,  eighteen  were  business  men,  three  were 
farmers,  and  two  had  been  journalists.  As  to  the  jurists,  they 
are  not  men  who  are  still  active  as  attorneys  or  judges.  Gener- 
ally men  are  in  question  who  went  over  early  from  the  legal  pro- 
fession into  politics,  and  who  have  lived  almost  entirely  in  politics. 
Indeed,  not  a  few  of  these  lawyers  who  have  become  legislators 
have  been  for  some  years  in  commercial  life  at  the  head  of  great 
industrial  or  railroad  corporations,  so  that  the  majority  of  jurists 
is  no  indication  whatsoever  of  any  legal  petrifaction.  All  sides  of 
American  life  are  represented,  and  only  such  professions  as  that  of 
the  university  scholar  or  that  of  the  preacher  are  virtually  exclud- 
ed because  circumstances  make  it  necessary  for  the  Senator  to 
spend  six  winters  in  Washington.  It  will  be  seen  that  politics 
must  have  become  a  life  profession  with  most  of  these  men,  since 
many  are  elected  four  and  five  times  to  the  Senate.  Among  the 
best  known  Senators,  Allison,  Hoar,  Cockrell,  Platt,  Morgan, 
Teller,  and  several  others  have  been  there  for  more  than  twenty- 
five  years.  Of  course  the  conservative  traditions  of  the  Senate  are 
better  preserved  by  such  numerous  re-elections  than  by  any  possi- 
ble external  provision. 

It  is  also  characteristic  of  the  composition  of  the  Senate  that, 
with  a  single  exception,  no  Senator  was  born  on  the  European 
continent.  Nelson,  the  Senator  from  Minnesota,  came  from  Nor- 
way when  he  was  a  boy.  Thus  in  this  conservative  circle  there  is 
little  real  representation  of  the  millions  who  have  immigrated  to 
this  country.  In  the  autobiographies  of  the  Senators,  two  re- 
late that,  although  they  were  born  in  America,  they  are  of  German 
descent;  these  are  Wellington,  the  Senator  from  Maryland,  and 


CONGRESS  89 

Dietrich,  the  Senator  from  Nebraska.  The  Senators  are  noto- 
riously well-to-do,  and  have  been  called  the  "Millionaires'  Club  "; 
and  yet  one  is  not  to  suppose  that  these  men  have  the  wealth  of  the 
great  industrial  magnates.  Senator  Clarke,  of  Montana,  whose 
property  is  estimated  at  one  hundred  million  dollars,  is  the  single 
one  who,  according  to  American  standards,  could  be  called  rich. 
Most  of  the  others  have  merely  a  few  modest  millions,  and  for 
many  the  expensive  years  of  residence  in  Washington  are  a  decided 
sacrifice.  And,  most  of  all,  it  is  certain  that  the  Senators  who  are 
materially  the  least  well-off  are  among  the  most  respected  and  in- 
fluential. The  most  highly  educated  member  of  the  Senate  would 
probably  be  the  young  delegate  from  Massachusetts,  the  historian 
Lodge,  who  is  the  President's  most  intimate  friend;  but  the  most 
worthy  and  dignified  member  has  been  the  late  Senator  from 
Massachusetts,  the  impressive  orator,  Hoar. 

It  is  a  matter  of  course  that  the  social  level  of  the  House  of  Rep- 
resentatives lies  considerably  lower.  Here  it  is  intended  that 
the  people  shall  be  represented  with  all  their  diverse  interests  and 
ambitions.  The  two-thirds  majority  of  lawyers  is  found,  how- 
ever, even  here;  of  the  357  members  of  the  last  House,  236  had 
been  trained  in  law,  63  were  business  men,  and  17  were  farmers. 
The  House  is  again  like  the  Senate,  since,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
the  membership  is  elected  entirely  anew,  it  remains  in  good  part 
made  up  of  the  same  people.  The  fifty-eighth  Congress  contained 
250  members  who  had  already  sat  in  the  fifty-seventh.  About 
one-tenth  of  the  Representatives  have  been  in  the  House  ten  years. 
The  general  physiognomy  is,  however,  very  different  from  that  of 
the  Senate.  It  is  more  youthful,  less  serene  and  distinguished, 
and  more  suggestive  of  ordinary  business.  The  average  age  is 
forty-eight  years,  while  there  are  some  men  under  thirty.  The 
total  impression,  in  spite  of  several  exceptions,  suggests  that  these 
men  come  from  the  social  middle  class.  However,  it  is  from  just 
this  class  that  the  notably  clear-cut  personalities  of  America  have 
come;  and  the  number  of  powerful  and  striking  countenances  to 
be  seen  in  the  House  is  greater  than  that  in  the  German  Reichstag. 
The  Representatives,  like  Senators,  have  a  salary  of  $5,000  and 
their  travelling  expenses. 

What  is  now  the  actual  work  of  these  two  chambers  in  Congress, 
and  how  do  they  carry  it  on  ?  The  work  cannot  be  wholly  sep- 


go  THE  AMERICANS 

arated  from  its  manner  of  performance.  Perhaps  the  essentials  of 
this  peculiar  task  and  method  could  be  brought  together  as 
follows:  on  the  basis  of  committee  reports,  Congress  decides 
whether  or  not  to  accept  bills  which  have  been  proposed  by  its 
members.  This  is  indeed  the  main  part  of  the  story.  Congress 
thus  passes  on  proposed  bills;  its  function  is  purely  legislative,  and 
involves  nothing  of  an  executive  nature.  On  the  other  hand,  these 
bills  have  to  be  proposed  by  members  of  Congress;  they  cannot  be 
received  from  the  President  or  from  members  of  his  Cabinet. 
Thus  the  Executive  has  no  influence  in  the  law-giving  body.  The 
method  of  transacting  business,  finally,  consists  of  laying  the  em- 
phasis on  the  deliberations  in  committees,  and  it  is  there  that  the 
fate  of  each  bill  is  virtually  settled.  The  committee  determines 
whether  the  proposed  measure  shall  come  before  the  whole  House; 
and  both  House  and  Senate  have  finally  to  decide  about  accepting 
the  measure.  Each  of  these  points  requires  further  comment. 

So  far  as  the  separation  of  the  legislative  and  executive  functions 
of  the  government  is  concerned,  it  is  certainly  exaggeration  to  say 
that  it  is  complete,  as  has  often  been  said.  There  is,  to  be  sure,  a 
somewhat  sharper  distinction  than  is  made  in  Germany,  where  the 
propositions  of  the  Executive  form  the  basis  of  legislative  activity; 
and  yet  even  in  the  United  States  the  ultimate  fate  of  every  meas- 
ure is  dependent  on  the  attitude  taken  by  the  President.  We  have 
seen  that  a  bill  which  is  sent  by  Congress  to  the  President  can  be 
returned  with  his  veto,  and  in  that  case  becomes  a  law  only  when 
on  a  new  vote  in  both  Houses  it  receives  a  two-thirds  majority.  A 
law  which  obtains  only  a  small  majority  in  either  one  of  the 
Houses  can  thus  easily  be  put  aside  by  the  Executive. 

On  the  other  hand,  Congress  has  a  very  important  participation 
in  executive  functions,  more  particularly  through  the  Senate,  inas- 
much as  all  appointments  of  federal  officers  and  the  ratification  of 
all  treaties  require  the  approval  of  the  Senate.  International  poli- 
tics, therefore,  make  it  necessary  for  the  President  to  keep  closely 
in  touch  with  at  least  the  Senate,  and  in  the  matter  of  appoint- 
ments the  right  of  the  Senators  to  disapprove  is  so  important  that 
for  a  large  number  of  local  positions  the  selection  has  been  actually 
left  entirely  to  the  Senators  of  the  respective  states.  The  Con- 
stitution gives  to  Congress  even  a  jurisdictional  function,  in  the 
case  that  any  higher  federal  officers  abuse  their  office.  When 


CONGRESS  9i 

there  is  a  suspicion  of  this,  the  House  of  Representatives  brings  its 
charges  and  the  Senate  conducts  the  trial.  The  last  time  that 
this  great  machinery  was  in  operation  was  in  1876,  when  the  Sec- 
retary of  War,  Belknap,  was  charged  and  acquitted ;  thus  suspicion 
has  not  fallen  on  any  of  the  higher  officials  for  twenty-eight  years. 

The  separation  of  the  Legislative  from  the  Executive  is  most 
conspicuously  seen  in  the  fact  that  no  member  of  the  Cabinet  has 
a  seat  in  Congress.  At  the  beginning  of  the  Congressional  session 
the  President  sends  his  message,  in  which  he  is  privileged  polit- 
ically to  pour  out  his  entire  heart.  Yet  he  may  only  state  his 
hopes  and  desires,  and  may  not  propose  definite  bills.  The 
Cabinet  ministers,  however,  are  responsible  solely  to  the  Presi- 
dent, and  in  no  wise  to  Congress,  where  they  have  no  right  to  dis- 
cuss measures  either  favourably  or  unfavourably.  They  do  not 
come  into  contact  with  Congress.  This  is  in  extreme  contrast  with 
the  situation  in  England,  where  the  ministers  are  leaders  of  the 
Parliamentary  party.  The  American  sees  in  this  a  strong  point 
of  his  political  system,  and  even  such  a  man  as  the  former  am- 
bassador to  Germany,  Andrew  D.  White,  who  admired  so  much  of 
what  he  saw  there,  considers  the  ministerial  benches  in  the  German 
and  French  representative  chambers  a  mistake.  It  occasions,  he 
says,  a  constant  and  vexatious  disagreement  between  the  dele- 
gates of  the  people  and  the  ministers,  which  disturbs  the  order 
and  effectiveness  of  parliamentary  transactions.  The  legislative 
work  should  be  transacted  apart,  and  the  popular  representatives 
ought  to  have  only  one  another  to  take  care  of. 

We  must  not,  however,  understand  that  there  are  practically  no 
relations  existing  between  Congress  and  the  ministry.  A  con- 
siderable part  of  the  bills,  which  have  to  be  discussed,  consist,  of 
course,  in  appropriations  for  public  expenditures,  so  far  as  these 
come  out  of  the  federal  rather  than  the  state  treasuries.  Such 
appropriations  included  at  the  last  time  $139,000,000  for  pensions, 
$138,000,000  for  the  post  office,  $91,000,000  for  the  army,  $78,- 
000,000  for  the  navy,  $26,000,000  for  rivers  and  harbours,  and  so 
on;  making  in  all  $800,000,000  for  the  annual  appropriations,  be- 
sides $253,000,000  for  special  contracts.  Thus  the  total  sum  of 
appropriations  in  one  session  of  Congress  amounted  to  over 
$1,000,000,000,  in  America  called  a  billion.  This  authorized  ap- 
propriation has  to  be  made  on  the  basis  of  proposals,  submitted 


92  THE  AMERICANS 

by  the  members  of  Congress;  but  it  is  a  matter  of  course  that  every 
single  figure  of  such  propositions  has  to  come  originally  from  the 
bureau  of  the  army  or  navy,  or  whatever  department  is  con- 
cerned, if  it  is  to  serve  as  the  basis  of  discussion.  Thus  while  the 
Executive  presents  to  Congress  no  proposals  for  the  budget,  it 
hands  over  to  the  members  of  Congress  so  empowered  the  whole 
material;  and  this  is,  after  all,  not  very  different  from  the  Euro- 
pean practice.  However,  the  voice  of  the  Executive  is  indeed  not 
heard  when  the  budget  is  und.er  debate.  The  members  of  Con- 
gress who  are  to  receive  the  ministerial  propositions  through 
mediation  of  the  Treasury,  must  belong  to  the  House;  for  one  of 
the  few  advantages  which  the  House  of  Representatives  has  over 
the  Senate  is  that  it  has  to  initiate  all  bills  of  appropriation.  This 
is  a  remnant  of  the  fundamental  idea  that  all  public  expenditures 
should  be  made  only  at  the  instance  of  the  taxpayers  themselves, 
wherefore  the  directly  elected  members  of  the  House  are  more 
fitted  for  this  than  are  the  Senators,  who  are  indirectly  elected. 
This  single  advantage  is  less  than  it  looks  to  be,  since  the  Senate 
may  amend  at  will  all  bills  of  appropriation  that  it  receives  from 
the  House. 

Thus  every  measure  which  is  ever  to  become  law  must  be  pro- 
posed by  members  of  Congress.  One  can  see  that  this  privilege 
of  proposing  bills  is  utilized  to  the  utmost,  from  the  simple  fact 
that  during  every  session  some  fifteen  thousand  bills  are  brought 
out.  We  may  here  consider  in  detail  the  way  in  which  the  House 
transacts  its  affairs.  It  is  clear  that  if  more  than  three  hundred 
voluble  politicians  are  set  to  the  task  of  deliberating  in  a  few 
months  on  fifteen  thousand  laws,  including  all  proposed  appro- 
priations, that  a  perfect  babel  of  argument  will  arise  which  can 
lead  to  no  really  fruitful  result,  unless  sound  traditions,  strict  rules 
and  discipline,  and  autocratic  leadership  hold  this  chaotic  body 
within  bounds.  The  American  instinct  for  organization  intro- 
duced indeed  long  ago  a  compact  orderliness.  Here  belongs  first 
of  all  that  above-mentioned  committee  system,  which  in  the  House 
is  completed  by  the  unique  institution  of  the  Speaker.  But  one 
thing  we  must  constantly  bear  in  mind:  the  whole  background  of 
Congressional  doings  is  the  two-party  system.  If  the  House  or  the 
Senate  were  to  break  out  in  the  prismatic  variegation  of  the  Ger- 
man parliamentary  parties,  no  speaker  and  no  system  of  com- 


CONGRESS  93 

mittees  would  be  able  to  keep  the  elements  in  hand.  It  is,  after 
all,  the  party  in  majority  which  guarantees  order,  moulds  the  com- 
mittees into  effective  machines,  and  lends  to  the  Speaker  his 
extraordinary  influence. 

The  essential  feature  of  the  whole  apparatus  lies  in  the  fact  that 
a  bill  cannot  come  up  before  the  House  until  it  has  been  deliber- 
ated in  committee.  The  chairman  of  the  committee  then  pre- 
sents it  personally  at  some  meeting.  The  presiding  officer,  the  so- 
called  Speaker,  exerts  in  this  connection  a  threefold  influence; 
firstly,  he  appoints  the  members  of  all  the  committees,  of  which, 
for  instance,  there  were  in  the  last  Congress  sixty-three.  The 
most  important,  and,  therefore,  the  largest,  of  these  committees 
are  those  on  appropriations,  agriculture,  banking,  coinage,  for- 
eign and  Indian  affairs,  interstate  and  foreign  commerce,  pen- 
sions, the  post  office,  the  navy,  railroads,  rivers  and  harbours, 
patents,  and  finance.  Both  the  majority  and  minority  parties  are 
represented  in  every  committee,  and  its  chairman  has  almost  un- 
limited control  in  its  transaction  of  business.  All  members  of  the 
more  important  committees  are  experienced  men,  who  have  been 
well  schooled  in  the  traditions  of  the  House. 

The  Speaker  is  allowed  further  to  decide  as  to  what  committee 
each  bill  shall  be  referred.  In  many  cases,  of  course,  there  is  no 
choice;  but  it  not  seldom  happens  that  there  are  several  possibili- 
ties, and  the  decision  between  them  often  determines  the  fate  of 
the  bill.  In  the  third  place,  the  Speaker,  as  chairman  of  the  Com- 
mittee on  Rules,  decides  what  reports,  of  those  which  have  been  so 
far  prepared  by  the  committees,  shall  come  up  for  discussion  at 
each  meeting  of  the  House.  As  soon  as  the  committee  has  agreed 
on  recommendations,  its  report  is  put  on  the  calendar;  but  whether 
it  then  comes  up  for  debate  in  the  House  depends  on  a  good  many 
factors.  In  the  first  place,  of  course,  many  of  the  proposed  mat- 
ters take  naturally  first  rank,  as  for  instance,  the  appropriations. 
The  chairman  of  the  Committee  on  Appropriations  is  given  the 
floor  whenever  he  asks  for  it;  thus  there  are  express  trains  on  this 
Congressional  railroad  which  have  the  right-of-way  before  suburb- 
an trains,  and  then,  too,  there  are  special  trains  which  take  prefer- 
ence before  everything  else.  But  aside  from  such  committee  re- 
ports as  are  especially  privileged,  a  very  considerable  opportunity 
of  selection  exists  among  those  which  remain. 


94  THE  AMERICANS 

It  is  here  that  the  really  unlimited  influence  of  the  Speaker 
comes  in.  He  is  in  no  way  required  to  give  the  floor  to  the  com- 
mittees which  ask  for  it  first.  If  the  chairman  of  the  committee 
is  not  called  on  by  the  Speaker  for  his  report,  he  is  said  to  be  not 
"  noticed  "  and  he  is  helpless.  Of  course,  whether  he  is  noticed  or 
not  depends  on  the  most  exact  prearrangement.  If  now  a  bill  is 
finally  reported  to  the  House,  it  is  still  not  allowed  an  endless  de- 
bate, for  the  Speaker  is  once  more  empowered  to  appoint  a  par- 
ticular time  when  the  debate  must  end,  and  thereby  he  is  able  to 
come  around  any  efforts  at  obstruction.  If,  however,  the  minority 
wishes  to  make  itself  heard  by  raising  the  point  of  no  quorum,  then 
not  only  those  who  are  voting,  but  all  those  who  are  present  in  the 
House,  are  counted,  and  if  these  are  not  enough  the  delinquents 
can  be  hunted  out  and  forced  to  come  in.  But  in  most  cases  there 
is  little  or  ho  debate,  and  the  resolutions  of  the  committee  are  ac- 
cepted by  the  House  without  a  word.  In  certain  of  the  most  im- 
portant cases,  as  in  matters  of  appropriation  or  taxation,  the 
House  constitutes  itself  a  so-called  committee  of  the  whole.  Then 
the  matter  is  seriously  discussed  under  a  special  chairman,  as  at  the 
session  of  an  ordinary  committee.  Even  here  it  is  not  the  custom 
to  make  long  speeches,  and  the  members  are  often  contented  with 
a  short  sketch  of  their  arguments,  and  ask  permission  to  have  the 
rest  published  in  the  Congressional  Report.  The  speeches  which 
thus  have  never  been  delivered  are  printed  and  distributed  in  in- 
numerable copies  through  the  district  from  which  that  speaker 
comes  and  elsewhere  as  well. 

Thus  if  an  ordinary  Representative  proposes  a  measure,  which 
perhaps  expresses  the  local  wishes  of  his  district,  such  a  bill  goes 
first  to  the  Secretary  and  from  him  to  the  Speaker.  He  refers  it  to 
a  special  committee,  and  at  the  same  time  every  Representative 
receives  printed  copies  of  it.  The  committee  decides  whether  the 
bill  is  worth  considering.  If  it  has  the  good  fortune  to  be  deliber- 
ated by  the  committee  it  is  often  so  amended  by  the  members  that 
little  remains  of  its  original  substance.  If  it  then  has  the  further 
good  fortune  to  be  accepted  by  the  committee,  it  comes  on  the 
House  calendar,  and  waits  until  the  Committee  on  Rules  puts 
it  on  the  order  of  the  day.  If  it  then  has  the  exceptional  good  for- 
tune of  being  read  to  the  House  it  has  a  fairly  good  chance  of  being 
accepted. 


CONGRESS  95 

But  of  course  its  pilgrimage  is  not  ended  here.  It  passes  next 
to  the  Senate,  and  goes  through  much  the  same  treatment  once 
more;  first  a  committee,  then  the  quorum.  If  it  does  not  there 
come  up  before  the  quorum,  it  is  lost  in  spite  of  everything;  but  if 
it  does  finally  come  up,  after  all  hindrances,  it  may  be  amend- 
ed once  more  by  the  Senate.  If  this  happens,  as  is  likely,  its  con- 
sideration is  begun  all  over  again.  A  composite  committee  from 
both  Houses  considers  all  amendments,  and  if  it  cannot  come  to  an 
agreement  the  measures  are  doomed.  If  the  committee  does 
agree,  the  close  of  the  session  of  Congress  may  intervene  and  pre- 
vent its  last  hearing  in  the  House,  and  in  the  next  Congress  the 
whole  process  is  repeated.  But  if  a  measure  has  passed  through 
all  these  dangers  and  been  approved  by  both  Houses,  the  Presi- 
dent then  has  the  opportunity  to  put  his  veto  on  it. 

Thus  it  comes  about  that  hardly  a  tenth  part  of  the  bills  which 
are  introduced  each  year  ever  become  laws,  and  that  they  are 
sifted  out  and  amended  surely  and  speedily.  Indeed,  it  can  hardly 
be  doubted  that  a  large  part  of  the  fifteen  thousand  bills  are  intro- 
duced out  of  personal  consideration  for  constituents,  or  even  out  of 
less  worthy  motives,  with  no  expectation  that  they  will  possibly  be 
accepted.  Moreover,  the  popular  tribunal,  the  House,  spares  it- 
self too  great  pains,  because  it  knows  that  the  Senate  will  certainly 
amend  all  its  provisions;  and  the  Senate  indulges  itself  in  voting 
unnecessary  favours  to  constituents  because  it  relies  on  their  ne- 
gation by  the  House. 

The  Senate  works  on  fundamentally  the  same  plan.  When  a 
Senator  brings  his  proposition,  it  goes  likewise  to  the  appropriate 
committee,  then  is  read  before  a  quorum,  and  is  passed  on  to  the 
other  chamber.  Nevertheless,  there  is  a  considerable  difference 
in  procedure;  the  House  behaves  like  a  restless  popular  gathering, 
while  the  Senate  resembles  a  conference  of  diplomats.  The 
House  is  a  gigantic  room,  in  which  even  the  best  orators  can 
hardly  make  themselves  heard,  and  where  hundreds  are  writing  or 
reading  newspapers  without  paying  any  attention  to  the  man  who 
speaks.  But  the  Senate  is  a  parliamentary  chamber,  where  a 
somewhat  undue  formality  prevails.  A  strict  discipline  has  to  be 
observed  in  the  House  in  order  to  preserve  its  organization,  while 
the  Senate  needs  no  outward  discipline  because  the  small  circle  of 
elderly  gentlemen  transacts  its  business  with  perfect  decorum. 


96  THE  AMERICANS 

Thus  the  Senate  tolerates  no  Speaker  over  it,  no  president  with 
discretionary  powers.  In  the  Senate  both  parties  have  the  right 
to  appoint  the  members  of  the  committees.  The  Chairman  of 
the  Senate  must  also  not  fail  to  notice  any  one  who  asks  for  the 
floor;  whoever  wishes  to  speak  has  every  chance,  and  this  freedom 
implies  of  course  that  the  debates  shall  not  be  arbitrarily  termi- 
nated by  the  Chairman.  A  debate  can  be  closed  only  by  unani- 
mous consent.  The  influence  of  the  Chairman  of  the  Senate  is, 
therefore,  only  a  shadow  beside  that  of  the  Speaker,  and  since  the 
Chairman  is  not  elected  by  the  Senate  itself,  but  is  chosen  directly 
by  the  people  in  the  person  of  the  Vice-President  of  the  United 
States,  it  may  happen  that  this  Chairman  belongs  to  the  party  in 
minority,  and  that  he  has  practically  no  influence  at  all.  Conform- 
ably with  the  extreme  formality  and  courtesy  of  the  Senate,  majori- 
ties are  counted  on  the  basis  of  the  votes  actually  cast,  and  not,  as 
in  the  House,  on  the  basis  of  members  actually  present.  For  both 
Houses  alike  it  is  possible  for  those  who  intend  to  be  absent  to 
be  paired  off  beforehand,  so  that  if  one  absentee  has  announced 
himself  for,  and  another  against,  a  certain  bill,  they  can  both  be 
counted  as  having  voted. 

It  is  clear  what  the  consequences  of  this  unlimited  exchange  of 
Senatorial  courtesy  must  be;  the  concessions  in  outward  form 
must  lead  immediately  to  compromises  and  tacit  understandings. 
If  a  debate  can  be  closed  only  by  unanimous  agreement,  it  is  pos- 
sible for  a  single  opposing  politician  to  obstruct  the  law-making 
machinery.  A  handful  of  opponents  can  take  the  stand  for  weeks 
and  block  the  entire  Senate.  Such  obstructionist  policy  has  to  be 
prevented  at  any  cost,  and  therefore  on  all  sides  and  in  every  least 
particular  friendly  sympathy  must  be  preserved.  Of  course,  the 
opposition  between  the  two  parties  cannot  be  obviated;  so  much 
the  more,  then,  it  is  necessary  for  each  man  to  be  bound  by  personal 
ties  to  every  other,  and  to  feel  sure  of  having  a  free  hand  in  his  own 
special  interests  so  long  at  least  as  he  accords  the  same  right  to 
others  in  theirs.  Thus,  merely  from  the  necessity  of  preserving 
mutual  good  feeling,  it  too  often  happens  that  the  other  members 
close  their  eyes  when  some  willing  Senator  caters  to  local  greed  or 
to  the  special  wishes  of  ambitious  persons  or  corporations,  by 
proposing  a  Congressional  bill. 

This  "Senatorial  courtesy"  is  most  marked  in  the  matter  of  the 


CONGRESS  97 

appointment  of  officials,  where  matters  go  smoothly  only  because 
it  has  been  agreed  that  no  proposals  shall  be  made  without  the  ap- 
proval of  the  Senators  of  the  state  concerned.  Every  Senator 
knows  that  if  to-day  one  local  delegate  is  outvoted,  the  rebellion 
may  to-morrow  be  directed  against  another;  and  thus  many  a 
doubtful  appointment,  given  as  hush  money  or  as  a  reward  for 
mean  political  services,  is  approved  with  inward  displeasure  by 
courteous  colleagues  merely  in  order  to  save  the  principle  of  indi- 
vidual omnipotence.  There  is  no  doubt  that  in  this  way  the  in- 
dividual Senator  comes  to  have  much  more  power  than  does  a 
single  Representative.  The  latter  is  really  the  member  of  a  party, 
with  no  special  opportunities  for  satisfying  his  individual  wishes; 
while  the  Senator  may  have  his  personal  points  of  view,  and  is 
really  an  independent  factor. 

If  to-day  the  Senate,  contrary  to  the  expectation  of  former 
times,  really  plays  a  much  more  important  ro'le  before  the  public 
than  the  House,  this  is  probably  not  because  more  important 
functions  are  given  to  the  Senate,  but  because  it  is  composed  of 
persons  of  whom  every  one  has  peculiar  significance  in  the  politi- 
cal situation,  while  the  House  is  nothing  but  a  mass-meeting 
with  a  few  leaders.  This  increased  importance  before  the  public 
eye  works  back  again  on  the  Senator's  opinion  of  himself,  and  the 
necessary  result  is  a  steady  increase  in  the  Senate's  aspirations  and 
the  constant  growth  of  its  rights.  Perhaps  the  most  characteristic 
exhibition  of  this  has  been  the  gradual  evolution  of  the  part 
taken  by  the  Senate  in  the  matter  of  foreign  treaties.  The 
Constitution  requires  the  ratification  of  the  Senate,  and  the  original 
construction  was  that  the  Administration  should  present  a  treaty 
all  made  out,  which  the  Senate  had  to  accept  or  reject  as  it  stood. 
But  soon  the  Senate  arrogated  to  itself  the  right  to  amend  treaties, 
and  then  it  came  about  that  the  Senate  would  never  accept  a 
treaty  without  injecting  a  few  drops  of  its  own  diplomatic  wisdom. 
It  might  be  that  these  would  be  merely  a  change  of  wording,  but 
just  enough  to  let  the  President  feel  the  Senatorial  power.  The 
result  has  been  that  the  treaties  that  are  now  presented  to  the 
Senate  are  called  nothing  but  proposals. 

Looking  behind  the  scenes  one  discovers  that  at  bottom,  even  in 
the  Senate,  only  a  few  have  real  influence.  The  more  recently  ap- 
pointed Senators  earn  their  spurs  in  unimportant  committees,  and 


98  THE  AMERICANS 

even  if  they  get  into  more  important  ones  they  are  constrained  by 
tradition  to  fall  in  line  behind  the  more  experienced  members.  In 
the  House  there  is  half  a  dozen,  and  in  the  Senate  perhaps  a 
dozen  men  who  shape  the  politics  of  the  country.  Here,  as  in  all 
practical  matters,  the  American  is  ready  to  submit  to  an  oligarchi- 
cal system  so  long  as  he  knows  that  the  few  in  question  de- 
rive their  power  from  the  free  vote  of  the  many.  In  fact  nothing 
but  oligarchy  is  able  to  satisfy  the  profoundly  conservative  feeling 
of  the  American.  Behind  the  scenes  one  soon  discovers  also  that 
the  Senatorial  courtesy,  which  neutralizes  the  party  fanaticism  and 
encourages  compromises  to  spring  up  like  mushrooms,  still  leaves 
room  for  plenty  of  fighting;  and  even  intrigue  thrives  better  on 
this  unctuous  courtesy  than  in  the  coarser  soil  of  the  lower  house. 
The  sanctified  older  Senators,  such  as  Allison,  Frye,  Platt,  Aldrich, 
and  Hale,  know  where  to  place  their  levers  so  as  to  dislodge  all  op- 
position. Perhaps  McKinley's  friend,  Hanna,  who  was  the  grand 
virtuoso  in  Republican  party  technique,  knew  how  always  to  over- 
come such  political  intrigue;  but  even  Roosevelt's  friend,  Lodge, 
has  sometimes  found  that  the  arbitrarily  shaped  traditions  of  the 
seniors  weigh  more  than  the  most  convincing  arguments  of  the 
younger  men. 

The  moral  level  of  Congress  is,  in  the  judgment  of  its  best  critics, 
rather  high.  The  fate  of  every  one  of  the  thousands  of  bills  is 
settled  virtually  in  a  small  committee,  and  thus,  time  after  time, 
the  weal  and  woe  of  entire  industries  or  groups  of  interests  depend 
on  one  or  two  votes  in  the  committee.  The  possible  openings  for 
corruption  are  thus  much  greater  in  Congress  than  in  any  other 
parliament,  since  no  other  has  carried  the  committee  system  to 
such  a  point.  In  former  times  political  scoundrels  went  around 
in  great  numbers  through  the  hotels  in  Washington  and  even  in 
the  corridors  of  the  Capitol  trying  to  influence  votes  with  every  de- 
vice of  bribery.  To  be  sure,  it  is  difficult  to  prove  that  there  are  no 
such  hidden  sins  to-day;  but  it  is  the  conviction  of  those  who  are 
best  able  to  judge  that  nothing  of  the  sort  any  longer  exists.  To 
be  sure,  there  are  still  lobbyists  in  Washington,  who  as  a  matter 
of  business  are  trying  to  work  either  for  or  against  impending 
bills,  but  direct  bribery  is  no  longer  in  question.  On  the  slight- 
est suspicion  the  House  itself  proceeds  to  an  investigation  and 
appoints  a  committee,  which  has  the  right  of  collecting  sworn 


CONGRESS  99 

testimony;  and  time  after  time  these  suspicions  have  been  found 
to  be  unjust. 

A  different  verdict,  however,  would  have  to  be  passed  if  only  that 
delegate  were  to  be  called  morally  upright  who  surveys  every  ques- 
tion from  the  point  of  view  of  the  welfare  of  the  entire  nation;  for 
then  indeed  the  purity  of  Congress  will  be  by  no  means  free  from 
doubt.  Few  Americans,  however,  would  recognize  such  a  polit- 
ical standard.  When  great  national  questions  come  up  for  dis- 
cussion Congress  has  always  shown  itself  equal  to  the  occasion, 
and  when  the  national  honour  is  at  stake,  as  it  was  during  the 
Spanish  War,  party  lines  no  longer  exist;  but  when  the  daily  drift 
of  work  has  to  be  put  through  it  is  the  duty  of  every  man  to  uphold 
as  obstinately  as  possible  the  interests  of  his  constituency.  Es- 
pecially the  political  interests  of  his  party  then  become  predom- 
inant, and,  seen  from  a  higher  point  of  view,  there  are  no  doubt 
many  sins  committed  in  this  direction.  Many  a  measure  is  given 
its  quietus  by  one  party,  not  because  of  any  real  inexpediency,  but 
simply  in  order  to  embarrass  the  other  party,  to  tie  up  the  Ad- 
ministration, and  thus  to  weaken  the  hopes  of  that  party  at  the 
next  election.  In  recent  years  such  party  tactics  on  both  sides 
have  prevailed  time  after  time.  Most  frequently  it  is  the  present 
minority,  under  its  leader,  Senator  Gorman,  which  has  resorted  to 
this  policy  and  held  out  against  the  most  reasonable  propositions 
of  the  Republicans,  simply  because  these  measures  would  have 
increased  the  Republican  respect  before  the  nation. 

On  the  other  hand,  party  lines  are  all  the  time  being  broken 
through  by  these  or  those  local  interests,  and  any  one  observing  the 
distribution  of  votes  cast  in  the  House  will  see  clearly  how,  often- 
times, the  parties  mingle  while  the  issue  lies  perhaps  between  two 
different  geographical  sections.  When  oleomargarine  is  the  order 
of  the  day  the  representatives  of  the  farming  districts  are  lined  up 
against  those  from  industrial  sections.  If  it  is  a  question  of  get- 
ting Congress  to  approve  the  great  irrigation  measures,  whole 
troops  of  Democrats  hasten  to  forget  that,  according  to  their  funda- 
mental principles,  such  an  undertaking  belongs  to  the  state,  and 
not  to  the  federal,  government;  the  representatives  from  all  the 
Democratic  states  which  are  to  be  benefited  by  such  irrigation, 
fall  into  sweet  accord  with  the  Republicans.  Thus  the  party 
divisions  are  all  the  time  being  forgotten  for  the  moment,  and 


ioo  THE  AMERICANS 

it  looks  as  if  this  weakening  of  party  bonds  were  on  the  increase. 
By  supporting  his  party  principles  each  Congressman  assists  to- 
ward the  next  victory  of  his  party,  but  by  working  for  the  interests 
of  his  locality  he  is  surer  of  his  own  renomination.  The  require- 
ment that  a  candidate  must  reside  in  the  district  that  elects  him 
naturally  strengthens  his  consideration  for  the  selfish  claims  of 
his  constituency.  Thus  it  is  only  at  notable  moments  that  the 
popular  representative  stands  above  all  parties;  he  generally 
stands  pat  with  his  own  party,  and  if  the  voters  begin  to  nod 
he  may  take  his  stand  somewhat  below  the  parties. 

Yet,  on  looking  at  Congress  as  a  whole,  one  has  the  impression 
that  it  accomplishes  a  tremendous  amount  of  work,  and  in  a  more  so- 
ber, business-like,  and  efficient  way  than  does  any  other  parliament 
in  the  world.  There  is  less  talking  against  time;  in  fact,  there  is  less 
talking  of  any  kind,  and  because  the  Administration  is  not  repre- 
sented at  all  there  is  less  fighting.  The  transactions  as  a  whole 
are  therefore  somewhat  less  exciting;  a  single  Congressman  has 
less  opportunity  to  become  personally  famous.  Yet  no  American 
would  desire  to  introduce  a  ministerial  bench  at  the  Capitol,  or  to 
have  the  next  Congress  adopt  Austrian,  French,  German,  or 
English  methods. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

"Justice 

GOING  from  the  hall  beneath  the  central  dome  of  the 
Capitol  toward  the  Senate,  in  the  left  wing  one  passes  by 
an  extraordinary  room,  in  which  there  is  generally  a  crowd 
of  people.  The  nine  judges  of  the  federal  court,  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  United  States,  are  sitting  there  in  their  black  gowns, 
between  Greek  columns.  The  President  and  his  Cabinet,  the 
Senate,  and  the  House  of  Representatives  fill  the  American  with  a 
pride  which  is  tempered  by  some  critical  judgment  on  this  or  that 
feature,  or  perhaps  by  a  lively  party  dissatisfaction.  But  every 
American  who  is  competent  to  judge  looks  on  the  Supreme  Court 
with  unqualified  admiration.  He  knows  very  well  that  no  force 
in  the  country  has  done  more  for  the  peace,  prosperity,  and  dignity 
of  the  United  States.  In  the  constitutional  make-up  of  the  Fed- 
eral Government,  the  Supreme  Court  is  the  third  division,  and 
co-ordinate  with  the  Legislative  and  the  Executive  departments. 

The  jurisprudence  of  a  nation  forms  a  totality;  and  therefore 
it  will  not  do  to  discuss  the  work  of  the  nine  men  sitting  at  the 
Capitol,  without  throwing  at  least  a  hasty  glance  at  the  administra- 
tion of  justice  throughout  this  enormous  country.  There  is 
hardly  anything  more  confusing  to  a  European;  and  while  the 
Englishman  finds  many  features  which  are  reminiscent  of  English 
law,  the  German  stands  helpless  before  the  complicated  situation. 
It  is,  most  of  all,  the  extreme  diversity  of  methods  which  disquiets 
him.  It  will  be  quite  impossible  to  give  here  even  a  superficial 
picture  of  the  machinery  of  justice.  A  few  hints  must  suffice  at 
this  point,  while  we  shall  consider  many  features  in  other  connec- 
tions, especially  in  discussing  social  problems. 

The  jurisprudence  adopted  by  the  United  States  comes  from 
three  sources.  The  average  American,  on  being  asked  what  the 


102  THE  AMERICANS 

law  of  his  country  is,  would  say  that  it  is  "common  law."  If  we 
except  the  State  of  Louisiana,  which  by  a  peculiarity  has  the 
Napoleonic  Code,  this  reply  suffices  for  a  rough  idea.  But  if  a 
German,  having  in  mind  perhaps  the  two  German  law  books,  the 
penal  and  the  civil  codes,  both  of  which  he  can  put  so  easily  into 
his  pocket,  were  to  ask  after  some  formulation  of  the  common  law, 
he  would  be  shown  a  couple  of  huge  bookcases  with  several  hun- 
dred stout  volumes.  Common  law  is  not  a  law  book,  nor  is  it  a 
system  of  abstract  formulations,  nor  yet  a  codification  of  the  pre- 
vailing ideas  of  justice.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  sum  total  of  judicial 
decisions.  The  establishment  of  common  law  signifies  that  every 
new  case  as  it  comes  up  is  decided  in  conformity  with  previous  de- 
cisions. The  earlier  decision  may  be  a  bad  one,  and  very  much 
offend  one's  sense  of  justice;  but  if  no  superior  authority  has 
annulled  it,  it  becomes  historic  law  and  determines  the  future 
course  of  things.  American  law  came  originally  from  the  English. 
The  early  English  colonists  brought  with  them  across  the  ocean 
the  ideas  of  the  English  judges,  and  the  states  which  have  sprung 
up  lately  have  taken  their  law  from  the  thirteen  original  states. 
If  to-day,  in  Boston  or  San  Francisco,  any  one  finds  a  piece  of 
jewelry  on  the  street  and  another  snatches  it  from  him,  he  can 
have  the  thief  arrested,  although  the  object  found  is  not  his  prop- 
erty. The  judge  will  decide  that  he  has  a  right  to  the  object 
which  he  has  found  until  the  original  owner  appears,  and  the  judge 
will  so  decide  because  in  the  year  1722  a  London  chimney-sweep 
found  a  valuable  ornament,  out  of  which  a  jeweler  later  stole  a 
precious  stone;  and  the  English  judge  decided  in  favour  of  the 
chimney-sweep. 

The  disadvantages  of  such  a  system  are  obvious.  Instead  of  a 
single  book  of  law  embodying  the  will  of  the  nation,  the  decisions 
handed  down  by  single  insignificant  judges  in  different  parts  of  the 
world,  decisions  which  originated  under  wholly  other  states  of 
civilization  and  from  other  traditions,  still  have  final  authority. 
Again  and  again  the  judge  has  to  adapt  himself  to  old  decisions, 
against  which  his  sense  of  right  morally  rebels.  Yet  the  deep, 
ethical  motive  behind  this  legal  system  is  certainly  plainly  evi- 
dent. The  Anglo-Saxon  would  say  that  a  national  code  cannot 
be  constructed  arbitrarily  and  artificially.  Its  only  source  is  in 
the  careful,  responsible  decisions  given  down  by  the  accredited 


JUSTICE  103 

representatives  of  the  public  will  in  actual  disputes  which  have 
arisen.  There  is  no  right  or  wrong,  he  would  say,  until  two  per- 
sons disagree  and  make  a  settlement  necessary,  and  the  judge  who 
decides  the  case  creates  the  right  with  the  help  of  his  own  con- 
science; but  as  soon  as  he  has  given  his  decision,  and  it  is  set  aside 
by  no  higher  authority,  the  principle  of  the  decision  becomes  jus- 
tice for  all  times.  Every  day  sees  new  formulations  of  justice,  be- 
cause new  conflicts  between  human  wills  are  always  arising  and  re- 
quire new  settlements;  but  up  to  the  moment  when  a  decision  is 
made  there  exist  only  two  conflicting  desires  existing  in  the  matter, 
but  nothing  which  could  be  called  justice. 

Although  it  seems  at  first  sight  as  if  a  legal  system,  which  is  com- 
posed of  previous  decisions,  would  soon  become  antiquated  and 
petrified,  the  Anglo-Saxon  would  say  with  firm  conviction  that 
just  such  justice  is  the  only  one  which  can  be  living,  because  it 
springs  not  out  of  rationalistic  preconceptions,  but  from  actual 
experience.  The  Anglo-Saxon  jurisprudence  is  full  of  historical 
reality  and  of  picturesque  individuality.  It  has  grown  as  organ- 
ically as  language,  and  is,  in  the  estimation  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  as 
much  superior  to»a  mere  code  as  the  ordinary  speech  of  a  people, 
in  spite  of  all  its  historical  inconsistencies,  is  superior  to  an 
artificially  constructed  speech  like  Volapiik.  And  he  would  find 
many  other  points  of  superiority.  He  would  say,  for  instance, 
that  this  is  the  only  system  which  gives  to  every  man  on  the  judge's 
bench  the  serious  sense  of  his  responsibility;  for  the  judge  knows 
that  in  every  case  which  he  decides,  he  settles  not  only  the  fortunes 
of  James  and  John  there  present,  but  he  influences  for  all  times  the 
conception  of  justice  of  the  entire  nation.  He  feels  especially  that 
the  binding  force  of  previous  decisions  reassures  the  public  sense 
of  right,  and  lends  a  continuity  which  could  never  be  afforded  by 
the  theoretical  formulations  of  an  abstract  code.  < 

Another  factor  must  be  taken  into  account.  A  judicial  de- 
cision which  is  forgotten  as  quickly  as  the  voice  of  the  judge  who 
speaks  it,  can  never  have  so  considerable  an  influence  on  the  pub- 
lic mind  as  one  which  itself  creates  law.  In  one  sense,  to  be  sure, 
the  German  judge  creates  law  too;  the  penal  code  sets  wide  limits 
to  the  punishment  of  a  criminal,  and  within  these  limits  the  judge 
assigns  a  certain  penalty.  He  does  in  a  sense  create  the  right  for 
this  particular  case;  but  the  characteristic  difference  is,  that  in  the 


104  rHE  AMERICANS 

German  Empire  no  subsequent  decision,  is  in  the  least  affected  by 
such  preceding  decision.  The  German  judge  finds  justice  pre- 
scribed for  him  and  he  is  its  servant,  while  the  American  makes  it 
and  is  its  master.  This  gives  to  the  judicial  utterance  an  his- 
torical weight  and  enduring  significance,  which  contribute  vastly 
toward  keeping  judicial  doings  in  the  focus  of  the  public  con- 
sciousness. 

The  same  is  brought  about  in  still  another  way.  Since  the  de- 
cision of  the  judge  is  largely  dependent  on  previous  cases,  the  fate 
of  the  parties  contending  may  depend  on  whether  they  are  able  to 
point  to  previous  decisions  which  are  favourable  to  their  side. 
The  layman  cannot  do  this,  and  it  falls  to  the  counsel.  In  this 
wise  a  sphere  of  action  is  open  to  the  American  lawyer  which  is 
incomparably  greater  than  that  of  any  German  Anwalt.  The 
former  has  to  concern  himself  not  only  with  the  case  in  hand,  but 
he  has  to  connect  this  concrete  instance  with  the  whole  historic  past. 
Thus  the  profession  of  the  lawyer  comes  to  have  an  inner  impor- 
tance which  is  unknown  to  the  European,  and  which  in  many 
cases  necessarily  exceeds  the  importance  of  the  judge,  since  he  is 
bound  to  comply  with  the  decisions  adduced  by  the  counsels  for 
both  sides.  The  judges  are  selected  from  the  ranks  of  lawyers, 
and  are,  therefore,  brought  up  in  the  idea  that  law  is  composed  of 
former  decisions,  and  that  the  decisions  of  the  bench  are  admira- 
ble only  so  far  as  they  are  consistent  enough  with  the  earlier  ones 
to  force  the  conviction  and  respect  of  the  lawyers.  Thus  barristers 
and  judges  are  entirely  at  one,  and  are  together  entrusted  with  the 
public  sense  of  right,  as  it  has  developed  itself  historically,  and  as 
it  is  day  by  day  added  to  and  perpetuated,  so  that  it  shall  be  a 
never-failing  source  of  quickening  to  the  conscience  of  the  masses. 

In  the  masses  of  the  people,  on  the  other  hand,  the  natural  ten- 
dencies are  favourable  anyhow  for  developing  a  lively  sense  of  jus- 
tice. It  is  a  necessity  devolving  naturally  on  the  individualistic  view 
of  things.  The  protection  of  individual  rights  and  the  inviolability 
of  the  individual  person,  with  all  that  belongs  to  it,  are  the  individ- 
ualist's most  vital  concern.  Many  outward  features  of  American 
life  may  seem,  indeed,  to  contradict  this,  but  any  one  who  looks 
more  deeply  will  see  that  everywhere  the  desire  for  justice  is  the 
essential  trait  of  both  the  individual  and  the  nation;  and  the  public 
consciousness  would  rather  endure  the  crassest  absurdities  and  mis- 


JUSTICE  105 

understandings  in  public  affairs  than  the  least  conscious  violation 
in  the  administration  of  justice.  Again  and  again  important 
trials  go  to  pieces  on  small  technical  errors,  from  which  the 
severe  sense  of  justice  of  the  American  is  not  able  to  free  itself. 
The  public  is  always  willing  to  endure  any  hardship  rather  than 
to  tolerate  any  maladministration  of  justice. 

On  the  finest  square  in  Boston  stands  a  large  and  magnificent 
hotel,  erected  by  rich  capitalists  The  building  laws  provide  that 
structures  facing  that  square  shall  not  exceed  a  height  of  ninety 
feet;  but  in  violation  of  the  law  certain  cornices  and  balustrades 
were  added  to  this  building  above  the  ninety-foot  line,  in  order  to 
give  an  artistic  finish  to  the  structure,  and  still  to  turn  practically 
every  inch  allowed  by  law  to  account  for  rentals,  which  are  high 
in  so  palatial  a  building.  Every  one  agreed  that  this  ornamental 
finish  was  highly  decorative  and  satisfactory  in  the  aesthetic 
sense,  but  that  it  must,  nevertheless,  be  taken  down,  because  it 
violated  the  law  by  some  seven  feet.  The  cornice  and  balustrades 
have,  therefore,  been  demolished  at  great  expense,  and  a  hand- 
some structure  has  been  made  absolutely  hideous  —  a  veritable 
monstrosity.  The  best  square  in  the  city  is  disfigured,  but  every 
Bostonian  looks  on  this  building  with  gratification.  Beautiful 
architectural  detail  may  indeed  have  been  sacrificed;  but  the 
public  conscience  has  won,  and  it  is  on  this  that  the  nation 
rests. 

It  is  merely  incidental  that  very  much,  and  indeed  much  too 
much,  of  that  which  the  Germans  account  matters  of  justice,  is 
relegated  by  the  American  point  of  view  to  other  tribunals;  some, 
for  instance,  are  held  to  be  political  questions,  and  thus  it  often  ap- 
pears to  the  foreigner  as  if  there  had  been  a  violation  of  justice 
where  really  there  has  been  only  some  political  abuse.  But  mat- 
ters of  that  sort  loom  up  whenever  any  nation  tries  to  form  an 
opinion  about  another.  In  Germany,  indeed,  the  American 
seems  to  see  many  violations  of  justice,  where  the  German  would 
find  only  an  historically  established  social  or  political  abuse. 

As  we  have  said,  American  justice  is  based  on  the  decisions 
handed  down  in  earlier  cases.  But  this  is,  after  all,  only  one  of 
the  three  sources  of  law.  That  form  of  law-making  is  also  here 
recognized  which  in  Europe  is  the  only  form;  the  law-making  by 
the  majority  of  the  people's  representatives.  We  have  seen  how 


106  THE  AMERICANS 

Congress  passes  every  year  hundreds  of  laws.  Many  of  these  are 
indeed  special  measures,  with  no  universal  application;  not  a  few, 
however,  are  of  very  broad  application  and  involve  an  unlimited 
number  of  possible  instances.  And  just  as  the  Congress  of  the 
United  States,  so  also  can  the  legislature  of  each  state  prescribe 
general  regulations,  applicable  within  the  state.  Such  laws  made  by 
the  legislature  are  technically  called  statutes.  These  are  engrossed 
in  the  statute-books  of  the  state,  and  supersede  all  opposed  de- 
cisions which  may  then  exist.  The  federal  judge,  like  the  judge 
in  a  special  state,  is  therefore  bound  to  earlier  decisions  only  so 
far  as  these  are  not  expressly  annulled  by  statutes. 

Here  we  find  one  of  the  main  reasons  for  the  extraordinary  com- 
plexities of  the  American  law;  forty-five  legislatures  are  making 
laws  for  their  several  states,  and  in  this  way  they  of  course  give 
expression  to  the  diversity  of  local  needs  and  the  varying  grades 
of  culture.  At  the  same  time,  the  principle  of  law,  based  on 
earlier  decisions,  is  always  combined  with  the  principle  of  the 
statute-book.  In  the  cases,  both  of  the  laws  of  Congress  and  those 
of  the  separate  states,  the  judges  who  first  come  to  apply  the 
statutes  in  practice,  are  privileged  to  make  their  own  interpretation; 
and  here,  too,  the  interpretation  handed  down  in  the  judge's  de- 
cision is  valid  for  all  future  cases. 

In  both  the  federal  and  state  courts  a  legal  action  may  be  car- 
ried from  the  lower  to  the  higher  courts,  and  the  decision  of  the 
highest  tribunal  becomes  definitely  law.  The  forty  -  five  -  fold 
diversity  refers  thus  not  merely  to  the  statutes  of  the  separate 
states,  but  also  to  the  interpretations  of  those  statutes  which  have 
been  given  by  the  upper  courts  of  those  states. 

The  third  source  of  law  is  the  only  one  that  prescribes  abso- 
lute uniformity  for  all  parts  of  the  country.  This  is  the  Con- 
stitution of  the  United  States.  The  Constitution  must  not  be 
conceived  as  the  creation  of  Congress;  Congress  was  created  by 
the  Constitution.  Therefore  every  provision  of  the  Constitution 
is  a  higher  law  than  any  bill  which  Congress  can  pass,  just  as  the 
law  made  by  Congress  is  higher  than  the  decision  of  any  judge. 
No  Congress  can  modify  a  clause  of  the  Constitution.  The  assent 
of  the  entire  people  is  necessary  for  such  a  revision.  Congress  can, 
however,  propose  an  amendment  to  the  Constitution,  and  a  two- 
thirds  majority  in  the  Senate  and  the  House  suffice  to  bring  the 


JUSTICE  107 

proposed  change  before  the  nation,  to  be  voted  on.  It  has  then  to 
be  passed  on  by  the  forty-five  state  legislatures,  and  will  become 
a  law  with  the  approval  of  three-quarters  of  the  states. 

At  first  glance  it  seems  as  if  this  were  a  judicial  machinery 
which  would  be  far  too  complicated  to  work  smoothly;  it  seems  as 
if  sources  of  friction  had  been  arbitrarily  devised,  and  as  if  con- 
tinual collisions  between  the  authorities  of  the  several  systems 
would  be  inevitable.  This  is  true  in  two  instances  especially; 
firstly,  the  judicial  machinery,  which  carries  out  the  federal  laws, 
sometimes  collides  with  that  of  the  separate  states.  Then,  sec- 
ondly, the  complicated  system  of  Constitutional  provisions,  de- 
vised a  hundred  years  since,  may  interfere  with  the  progressive 
measures  of  Congress  or  the  separate  states;  and  this  must  be  a 
source  of  much  uncertainty  in  law.  These  are  the  actual  diffi- 
culties of  a  legal  sort.  Everything  else,  as  for  instance  the  enor- 
mous diversity  of  the  laws  in  the  separate  states,  is  of  course  very 
inconvenient,  but  gives  rise  to  no  conflicts  of  principle. 

Neither  of  these  two  difficulties  finds  its  counterpart  in  Ger- 
many. In  no  Prussian  city  is  there  a  German  tribunal  side  by 
side  with  the  Prussian,  no  imperial  judge  beside  the  local  judge; 
nor  can  one  conceive  of  a  conflict  in  the  German  Empire  between 
the  creators  of  the  legal  code  and  the  law-givers  who  frame  the 
provisions  of  the  Constitution.  This  doubleness  of  the  judicial 
officials  is  in  every  part  of  the  Union,  however,  characteristic 
of  the  American  system  and  necessary  to  it.  The  wonderful 
equilibrium  between  centripetal  and  centrifugal  forces  which 
characterizes  the  whole  American  scheme  of  things  makes  it 
impossible  from  the  outset  for  either  the  whole  Federation  to 
become  the  sole  administrator  of  justice,  or  for  such  administra- 
tion, on  the  basis  of  federal  law,  to  be  left  entirely  to  the  separate 
states.  As  a  matter  of  course,  a  clear  separation  of  jurisdiction 
has  been  necessary.  The  Constitution  provides  for  this  in  a  way 
clearly  made  necessary  by  the  conditions  under  which  the  Federa- 
tion was  formed.  Justice  in  the  army  and  navy,  commercial  poli- 
cies, and  political  relations  with  other  countries;  weights  and 
measures,  coinage,  provisions,  interstate  commerce,  and  the  postal 
system,  the  laws  of  patents  and  copyrights,  of  bankruptcy,  and  of 
naturalization,  the  laws  of  river  and  harbour,  cases  of  treason, 
and  much  else  are  left  to  the  Federation  as  a  whole.  While  all 


io8  THE  AMERICANS 

these  matters  fall  naturally  within  the  scope  of  federal  law,  there 
are,  on  the  other  hand,  obvious  reasons  whereby  certain  classes 
of  persons  should  be  under  the  jurisdiction  of  the  federal  courts. 
These  are,  firstly,  diplomatic  ministers  and  consuls;  secondly, 
either  actual  or  legal  parties  when  they  belong  in  different  states; 
thirdly,  and  most  important,  the  states  themselves.  Wherever  a 
state  is  party  to  an  action,  the  Supreme  Federal  Court  must  hear 
the  case  and  give  the  decision.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Consti- 
tution declares  expressly  that,  wherever  jurisdiction  is  not  ex- 
plicitly conferred  on  the  federal  courts,  it  pertains  to  the  individual 
states;  therefore,  much  the  larger  part  of  criminal  law  belongs  to 
the  states,  and  so  the  laws  of  marriage  and  inheritance,  of  contract, 
property  ownership,  and  much  else. 

For  the  administration  of  cases  within  its  jurisdiction,  the  Fed- 
eration has  divided  the  whole  country  into  twenty-seven  districts, 
whose  boundaries  coincide  partly  with  state  lines,  and  of  which 
each  has  a  district  court.  Groups  of  such  districts  form  a  circuit, 
of  which  each  has  a  circuit  court,  which  sits  on  the  more  important 
cases,  especially  civil  cases  involving  large  interests.  And,  finally, 
there  is  a  court  of  appeals.  These  districts  and  circuits  are  now 
coincident  with  the  regions  lying  in  the  jurisdiction  of  the  several 
states.  In  their  method  of  procedure  the  federal  and  the  state 
courts  resemble  each  other,  especially  in  the  general  conduct  of 
criminal  cases,  which  is  everywhere  the  same,  because  the  Consti- 
tution itself  has  fixed  the  main  features.  Both  state  and  federal 
courts  are  alike  bound  by  the  extraordinarily  rigid  rules  framed 
by  the  Constitution  in  order  to  protect  the  innocent  man  against 
the  severity  of  the  law. 

No  criminal  can  be  condemned  except  by  a  jury  which  has  been 
sworn  to  perform  its  duty,  and  before  he  comes  before  this  jury  a 
provisional  jury  has  to  make  the  accusation  against  him.  Thus 
one  sworn  jury  must  be  convinced  of  the  justice  of  the  suspicion 
before  a  second  jury  can  give  its  verdict.  A  person  cannot  be 
brought  up  for  trial  twice  for  the  same  crime;  no  one  can  be  com- 
pelled to  testify  against  himself;  every  one  has  the  right  to  be 
brought  before  a  jury  in  the  district  where  the  crime  was  commit- 
ted, to  hear  all  the  testimony  against  him,  to  have  counsel  for  his 
own  defence,  and  to  avail  himself  of  the  strong  arm  of  the  law  in 
bringing  to  court  such  witnesses  as  would  speak  in  his  favour; 


JUSTICE  log 

cruel  or  excessive  penalties  may  not  be  fixed,  nor  a  man's  freedom 
or  property  interfered  with  except  after  due  process  of  law.  The 
Constitution  provides  this,  and  a  good  deal  else,  and  thus  makes 
the  conduct  of  trials  uniform.  In  other  respects,  however, 
there  are  not  a  few  differences  which  are  not  so  obvious  in  the 
courts.  Among  these  is  the  circumstance  that  federal  judges 
are  appointed  for  life,  while  the  judges  of  the  separate  states  are 
elected  for  short  periods  of  from  four  to  seven  years. 

The  relations  between  constitutional  laws  and  legislative  laws 
seem  even  more  complicated.  Here,  too,  in  a  way,  the  same 
province  is  covered  by  a  two-fold  system  of  laws.  The  fixed  letter 
of  the  Constitution  and  the  living  decisions  by  a  majority  in  Con- 
gress or  in  a  state  legislature,  stand  in  opposition  to  each  other. 
It  is  established  that  no  legislature  can  ride  over  the  Constitution; 
and  if  the  interpretation  of  a  court  brings  out  a  contradiction  be- 
tween the  two  systems,  a  conflict  arises  which  in  principle  makes 
justice  uncertain.  If  we  now  ask  how  it  is  possible  that  all  such 
conflicts  have  disappeared  without  the  least  prejudice  to  the  na- 
tional sense  of  justice,  how  in  spite  of  all  these  possibilities  of 
friction  no  disturbance  is  seen,  or  how  in  a  land  which  has  been 
overrun  with  serious  political  conflicts,  a  jurisprudence  so  lacking 
in  uniformity  has  always  been  the  north  star  of  the  nation  —  the 
reply  will  be  that  the  Supreme  Court  has  done  all  this.  The  upper 
federal  court  has  been  the  great  reconciling  factor  in  the  history 
of  the  United  States,  and  has  left  behind  it  a  succession  of  honour- 
able memorials.  Its  most  distinguished  chief  justice  has  been 
John  Marshall,  who  presided  over  it  from  1801  to  1835.  He  was 
America's  greatest  jurist,  and  contributed  more  than  any  one  else 
toward  impressing  the  spirit  of  the  Constitution  on  the  country. 

The  German  reader  who  hears  of  the  Supreme  Court  sitting  at 
the  Capitol,  must  not  turn  back  in  his  mind  to  the  Imperial  Court 
at  Leipzig.  The  Supreme  Court  is  by  no  means  the  sole  court  of 
highest  instance,  for  the  suits  in  single  states  which  properly  fall 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  a  state  can  go  no  higher  than  the  high- 
est court  of  appeal  of  that  state.  The  Supreme  Court  in  Wash- 
ington is  the  court  of  last  instance  for  federal  cases;  but  in  order 
to  disburden  the  judges  in  Washington,  there  are  large  classes  of 
civil  cases  pertaining  to  the  federal  courts,  which  can  be  carried 
no  higher  than  the  federal  court  of  appeals  of  a  given  circuit. 


no  THE  AMERICANS 

Much  more  important  than  the  cases  in  which  the  Supreme  Court 
is  really  the  court  of  highest  instance  for  federal  suits,  are  those 
others  in  which  it  is  at  once  the  court  of  first  and  last  instance; 
these  are  the  processes  which  the  Constitution  assigns  immediately 
to  the  Supreme  Court.  They  are  chiefly  suits  in  which  a  single 
state,  or  in  which  the  United  States  is  itself  a  party,  for  the  Su- 
preme Bench  alone  can  settle  disagreements  between  states  and 
decide  whether  the  federal  or  state  laws  conflict  with  the  Consti- 
tution. In  this  sense  the  Supreme  Court  is  higher  than  both 
President  and  Congress.  If  it  decides  that  a  treaty  which  the 
Executive  has  concluded,  or  a  law  which  has  been  passed  by  the 
Legislative,  violates  the  Constitution,  then  the  doings  of  both 
Congress  and  the  President  are  annulled.  There  is  only  one  way 
by  which  a  decision  of  the  Supreme  Court  can  be  set  aside — namely, 
by  the  vote  of  a  three-fourths  majority  of  all  the  states;  that  is,  by 
an  amendment  of  the  Constitution.  There  are  some  instances  of 
this  in  the  history  of  the  United  States;  but  virtually  the  decision 
of  the  nine  judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  is  the  highest  law  of  the 
land. 

The  Supreme  Court  has  annulled  Congressional  measures 
twenty-one  times  and  state  statutes  more  than  two  hundred  times, 
because  these  were  at  variance  with  the  Constitution.  Many  of 
these  have  been  cases  of  the  greatest  political  importance,  long 
and  bitterly  fought  out  in  the  legislatures,  and  followed  with  excite- 
ment by  the  public.  The  whole  country  has  often  been  divided 
in  its  opinion  on  a  legal  question,  and  even  the  decision  itself  of 
the  nine  judges  has  sometimes  been  handed  down  with  only  a 
small  majority.  Nevertheless,  for  many  years  the  country  has 
every  time  submitted  to  the  oracle  of  the  Supreme  Court,  and  con- 
sidered the  whole  issue  definitely  closed. 

One  is  not  to  suppose  that  the  Supreme  Court  occupies  itself 
with  handing  down  legal  verdicts  in  the  abstract  and  in  a  way  de- 
claring its  veto  whenever  Congress  or  some  legislature  infringes 
the  Constitution.  Such  a  thing  is  out  of  the  question,  since  theoret- 
ically the  Supreme  Court,  although  the  equal  is  not  the  superior  of 
Congress;  most  of  all,  it  is  a  court  and  not  a  legislature.  The 
question  of  law  does  not  come  up  then  before  this  tribunal  until 
there  is  a  concrete  case  which  has  to  be  decided,  and  the  Supreme 
Court  has  always  declined  to  hand  down  a  theoretical  interpre- 


JUSTICE  in 

tation  in  advance  of  an  actual  suit.  As  early  as  the  eighteenth 
century,  Washington  was  unable  to  elicit  from  the  Supreme  Court 
any  reply  to  a  hypothetical  question.  Even  when  the  actual  case 
has  come  up,  the  Supreme  Court  does  not  say  that  a  certain  law 
is  invalid,  but  decides  strictly  on  the  one  case  before  it,  and  an- 
nounces on  what  principle  of  the  law  it  has  based  its  decision.  If 
there  is  a  disagreement  between  two  laws,  the  decision  of  the  Court 
simply  lays  the  practical  emphasis  on  one  rather  than  on  the  other. 
It  is  true  that  in  this  way  nothing  but  one  single  case  is  decided; 
but  here  the  principle  of  common  law  comes  in  —  one  decision 
establishes  a  point  of  law,  and  the  Supreme  Court  and  all  lower 
courts  likewise  must  in  future  hand  down  verdicts  conformable 
thereto.  The  legislative  law  so  superseded  is  thus  practically 
annulled  and  made  non-existent.  In  the  Supreme  Court  one  sees 
again  that  the  security  of  national  justice  rests  on  the  binding 
force  of  former  decisions. 

It  will  be  enough  to  point  out  two  decisions  which  have  been 
given  in  recent  years  and  which  have  interested  the  whole  country. 
In  the  year  1894  Congress  passed  a  new  tax  law;  one  clause  of 
this  law  taxed  every  income  which  was  larger  than  a  certain 
amount.  It  was  taxation  of  the  wealthy.  So  far  as  income 
was  obtained  by  actal  labour  the  tax  was  undoubtedly  valid. 
But  New  York  barristers  doubted  the  constitutionality  of  this  tax 
in  so  far  as  it  was  laid  on  the  interest  from  securities  or  on  rents; 
because  the  Constitution  expressly  says  that  direct  taxation  for  the 
country  must  be  levied  by  the  separate  states,  and  in  such  a  way 
that  the  whole  sum  to  be  raised  shall  be  apportioned  among  the 
different  states  according  to  their  population.  The  counsels  of 
the  wealthy  New  Yorkers  said  this  provision  ought  to  apply  here. 
The  difference  would  be  for  every  rich  man  in  thickly  populated 
states  a  very  considerable  one.  If  the  tax  was  to  be  apportioned 
according  to  population,  the  poor  states  must  also  bear  their  share. 
While  it  came  to  be  levied  on  the  individuals  the  largest  part  of  the 
burden  would  fall  to  the  millionaires,  who  are  grouped  in  a  few 
states.  The  Supreme  Court  would  say  nothing  so  long  as  the  dis- 
cussion was  theoretical.  Finally,  a  case  was  tested;  when  the 
lawyers  were  prepared,  a  certain  citizen  refused  to  pay  the  income 
tax  and  let  the  matter  go  to  court.  The  first  barristers  in  the 

O 

country  were  divided  on  the  question,  as  was  also  the  Supreme 


ii2  THE  AMERICANS 

Court.  The  majority  decided  in  favour  of  the  citizen  who  re- 
fused to  pay  the  tax,  because  in  its  opinion  the  tax  was  a  direct 
one,  and  therefore  the  constitutional  provision  relating  to  direct 
taxation  was  in  force.  By  this  one  decision  the  income  tax  was 
set  aside,  and  instead  of  ten  thousand  new  suits  being  brought,  of 
which  the  outcome  was  already  clear,  the  excess  taxes  were  every- 
where paid  back.  At  bottom  this  was  the  victory,  over  both 
President  and  Congress,  of  a  single  eminent  barrister,  who  is 
to-day  the  ambassador  to  England. 

A  still  more  important  decision,  because  it  involved  the  whole 
political  future  of  the  United  States,  was  that  on  the  island  pos- 
sessions. By  the  treaty  with  Spain,  Porto  Rico  had  become  a 
possession  of  the  United  States,  and  was  therefore  subject  to  United 
States  law;  but  Congress  proceeded  to  lay  a  tariff  on  certain  wares 
which  were  imported  from  the  island.  There  were  two  possible 
views.  On  the  one  hand,  the  Constitution  prescribes  that  there 
shall  be  no  customs  duties  of  any  sort  between  the  states  which  be- 
long to  the  Union;  and  since  Porto  Rico  is  a  part  of  the  Union  the 
rest  of  the  states  may  not  levy  a  tariff  on  imports  from  the  island. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  Constitution  empowers  Congress  to  regu- 
late at  its  discretion  the  affairs  of  such  territory  as  belongs  to  the 
United  States,  but  has  not  yet  been  granted  the  equal  rights  of 
states;  thus  the  other  provision  of  the  Constitution  would  not  im- 
mediately apply  to  this  island.  The  question  had  never  before 
been  decided,  because  the  Indian  territories,  the  Mexican  acces- 
sions, and  Alaska  had  never  been  treated  as  Porto  Rico  now  was. 
Congress  had  previously  taken  for  granted  that  the  Constitution 
was  in  force  for  these  territories,  but  now  the  imperialistic  ten- 
dencies of  politics  had  created  a  new  situation,  and  one  which  had 
to  be  settled. 

Here  too,  of  course,  the  Supreme  Court  did  not  try  to  settle  the 
theoretical  question  which  was  stirring  the  whole  country;  but 
presently  came  the  action  of  Downes  vs.  Bidwell,  a  simple  suit 
in  which  a  New  York  commercial  house  was  the  complainant,  and 
the  New  York  Customs  the  defendant.  In  case  the  provisions 
of  the  Constitution  were  to  hold  for  the  entire  domain  of  the  United 
States,  the  tariff  which  Congress  had  enacted  was  unconstitu- 
tional, but  if  the  Constitution  was  to  hold  only  for  the  states,  while 
Congress  was  sovereign  over  all  other  possessions,  the  tariff  was 


JUSTICE  113 

constitutional.  The  Supreme  Court  decided  for  this  latter  inter- 
pretation by  five  votes  against  four,  and  the  commercial  house  paid 
its  tax.  Therewith  the  principle  was  decided  for  all  time,  and  if 
to-morrow  the  United  States  should  get  hold  of  Asia  and  Africa, 
it  is  assured  from  the  outset  that  the  new  domain  would  not  be 
under  the  Constitution,  but  under  the  authority  of  Congress  - 
simply  because  Downes  lost  his  case  against  Customs  Inspector 
Bidwell,  and  had  to  pay  six  hundred  dollars  in  duty  on  oranges. 

This  last  case  shows  clearly  that  the  decisions  by  no  means  al- 
ways support  the  Constitution  against  legislative  bodies;  and  sta- 
tistics show  that  although  in  two  hundred  cases  the  verdict  has 
been  against  the  legislatures,  it  has  been  more  often  decided  in 
their  favour.  The  entire  history  of  the  Supreme  Court  shows  that 
in  a  conservative  spirit  it  has  always  done  full  justice  to  both  the 
centralizing  and  particularizing  tendencies.  It  has  shown  this 
conciliatory  attitude  especially  by  the  firm  authority  with  which 
it  has  decided  the  hazardous  disputes  over  boundaries  and  other 
differences,  between  the  several  states,  so  that  such  disputes  really 
come  up  no  longer.  For  a  century  the  Supreme  Court  has  been  a 
shining  example  of  a  federal  tribunal. 

Such  complete  domination  of  the  national  life  could  not  have 
been  attained  by  the  Supreme  Bench  if  it  had  not  remained  well 
above  all  the  doings  of  the  political  parties,  and  that  it  does  so  may 
seem  surprising  when  one  considers  the  conditions  under  which 
the  judges  are  appointed.  The  President  selects  the  new  judge 
whenever,  by  death  or  retirement,  a  vacancy  occurs  among  the 
nine  judges;  and  the  Senate  confirms  the  selection.  Party  fac- 
tors, therefore,  determine  the  appointment,  and  in  point  of  fact 
Democratic  Presidents  have  always  appointed  judges  belonging 
to  their  own  party,  and  Republicans  have  done  the  same.  The 
result  is  that  both  parties  are  represented  in  the  Supreme  Court. 
That  in  political  questions,  such  as  the  case  of  Porto  Rico,  which 
we  have  mentioned,  party  conceptions  figure  somewhat  in  the  de- 
cision of  the  judges  is  undoubted.  Yet  they  figure  only  in  the 
sense  that  allegiance  to  one  or  the  other  party  involves  certain 
fundamental  convictions,  and  these  necessarily  come  into  play  in 
the  judicial  verdict.  On  the  other  hand,  there  is  never  the  least 
suspicion  that  the  judges  harbour  political  schemes  or  seek  in  their 
decision  to  favour  either  political  party.  This  results  from  the 


ii4  THE  AMERICANS 

fact  that  it  is  a  matter  of  honour  with  both  parties  to  place  really 
the  most  distinguished  jurists  in  these  highest  judicial  offices  — 
jurists  who  will  be  for  all  time  an  honour  to  the  administration 
which  appointed  them.  They  are  almost  exclusively  men  who 
have  never  taken  part  in  technical  politics,  but  who  have  been 
either  distinguished  judges  elsewhere  or  else  leading  barristers, 
and  who,  from  the  day  of  their  appointment  on,  will  be  only  judges. 
Their  position  is  counted  among  the  most  honourable  which  there 
is,  and  it  would  almost  never  happen  that  a  jurist  would  decline 
his  appointment,  although  the  position,  like  all  American  official 
positions,  is  inadequately  rewarded;  the  salary  is  ten  thousand 
dollars,  while  any  great  lawyer  is  able  to  earn  many  times  that  sum. 
At  the  present  moment  there  sits  on  the  Supreme  Bench  a  group  of 
men,  every  one  of  whom  represents  the  highest  kind  of  American 
spirit.  The  bustle  and  confusion,  which  prevail  in  the  two  wings 
of  the  Capitol,  does  not  invade  the  hall  where  the  nine  judges  hold 
their  sessions.  These  men  are,  in  the  American  public  mind,  the 
very  symbol  of  conscience. 

We  shall  have  occasion  to  consider  later  on  the  administration 
of  justice  by  the  nation,  under  various  points  of  view.  While  in 
many  respects  this  will  appear  less  conscientious  and  more  es- 
pecially less  deliberate,  it  will,  nevertheless,  recall  not  a  few 
admirable  features  of  the  Supreme  Court. 


CHAPTER  SIX 

City  and  State 

THE  Constitution,  the  President  and  his  Cabinet,  the  Senate, 
the  House  of  Representatives,  and  the  Supreme  Court,  in 
short  all  of  those  institutions  which  we  have  so  far  sketched, 
belong  to  the  United  States  together.  The  European  who  pic- 
tures to  himself  the  life  of  an  American  will  inevitably  come  to 
think  that  these  are  the  factors  which  most  influence  the  life  of  the 
political  individual.  But  such  is  not  the  case;  the  American 
citizen  in  daily  life  is  first  of  all  a  member  of  his  special  state. 
The  organization  of  the  Union  is  more  prominent  on  the  surface 
than  that  of  the  single  state,  but  this  latter  is  more  often  felt  by 
the  inhabitants. 

The  quality  of  an  American  state  can  be  more  easily  communi- 
cated to  a  German  than  to  an  Englishman,  Frenchman,  or  Russian. 
The  resident  of  Bavaria  or  Saxony  knows  already  how  a  man  may 
have  a  two-fold  patriotism,  allegiance  to  the  state  and  also  to  the 
empire;  so  that  he  can  recognize  the  duties  as  well  as  the  privi- 
leges which  are  grouped  around  two  centres.  The  essentials  of 
the  American  state,  however,  are  not  described  by  the  comparison 
with  a  state  in  the  German  Empire,  which  is  relatively  of  too 
little  importance;  for  in  comparison  with  the  Union  the  American 
state  has  more  independence  and  sovereignty  than  the  German. 
We  have  observed  before  that  it  has  its  own  laws  and  its  own  court 
of  last  appeal;  but  these  are  only  two  of  the  many  indications  of 
its  practical  and  theoretical  independence.  The  significant  or- 
ganic importance  of  the  state  shows  itself  not  less  clearly  if  one 
thinks  of  the  cities  subordinate  to  it,  rather  than  of  the  Federation 
which  is  superior  to  it.  While  the  German  state  is  more  depend- 
ent on  the  Federation  than  is  the  American,  the  German  city  is 
more  independent  of  the  state  than  is  any  city  in  the  United 


n6  THE  AMERICANS 

States.  The  political  existence  of  the  American  city  is  entirely 
dependent  on  the  legislature  of  its  state.  The  Federation  on 
the  one  hand  and  the  cities  on  the  other,  alike  depend  for  their 
administrative  existence  on  the  separate  states. 

It  is  not  merely  an  historical  relic  of  that  time  when  the  thirteen 
states  united,  but  hesitated  to  give  up  their  individual  rights  to  the 
Federation;  a  time  when  there  were  only  six  cities  of  more  than 
eight  thousand  inhabitants.  Nothing  has  changed  in  this  respect, 
and  it  is  not  only  the  Democratic  party  to-day  which  jealously 
guards  state  rights;  the  state  all  too  often  tyrannizes  still  over  the 
large  cities  within  its  borders.  There  are  some  indications,  indeed, 
that  the  state  rights  are  getting  even  more  emphasis  than  formerly 
—  perhaps  as  a  reaction  against  the  fact  that,  in  spite  of  all  con- 
stitutional precautions,  those  states  which  have  close  commercial 
relations  tend  practically  to  merge  more  and  more  with  one  an- 
other. 

On  observing  the  extraordinary  tenacity  with  which  the  fed- 
eral laws  and  the  local  patriotism  of  the  individual  cling  to  the  in- 
dependence of  each  one  of  the  forty-five  states,  one  is  inclined  to 
suppose  that  it  is  a  question  of  extremely  profound  differences  in 
the  customs,  ideals,  temperaments,  and  interests  of  the  different 
states.  But  such  is  not  at  all  the  case.  The  states  are,  of  course, 
very  unlike,  especially  in  size;  Texas  and  Rhode  Island,  for 
instance,  would  compare  about  as  Prussia  and  Reuss.  There  are 
even  greater  differences  in  the  density  of  population;  and  the 
general  cast  of  physiognomy  varies  in  different  regions  of  the 
country.  The  Southerner  shows  the  character  bred  by  plantation 
life;  the  citizen  of  the  North-east  evinces  the  culture  bred  of 
higher  intellectual  interests;  while  the  citizens  of  the  West 
attest  the  differences  between  their  agricultural  and  mining  dis- 
tricts. Yet  the  divisions  here  are  not  states,  but  larger  regions 
comprising  groups  of  states,  and  it  sometimes  happens  that  more 
striking  contrasts  are  found  within  a  certain  state  than  would  be 
found  between  neighbouring  states.  The  state  lines  were  after  all 
often  laid  down  on  paper  with  a  ruler,  while  nature  has  seldom 
made  sharp  lines  of  demarcation,  and  the  different  racial  elements 
of  the  population  are  fairly  well  mixed.  For  the  last  century  the 
pioneers  of  the  nation  have  carried  it  steadily  westward,  so  that  in 
many  states  the  number  of  those  born  in  the  state  is  much  less  than 


CITY  AND  STATE  117 

of  those  who  have  migrated  to  it;  and  of  course  the  obstinate  as- 
sertion of  the  prerogatives  of  such  a  state  does  not  arise  from  any 
cherished  local  traditions  to  which  the  inhabitants  are  accustomed. 
The  special  complexion  of  any  provincial  district,  moreover,  is  as- 
sailed from  all  sides  and  to  a  large  extent  obliterated,  in  these  days 
of  the  telegraph  and  of  extraordinarily  rapid  commercial  inter- 
course and  industrial  organization. 

The  uniformity  of  fashions,  the  wide-spread  distribution  of 
newspapers  and  magazines,  the  great  political  parties,  and  the  in- 
tense national  patriotism  all  work  towards  the  one  end  —  that 
from  Maine  to  California  the  American  is  very  much  the  same  sort 
of  man,  and  feels  himself,  in  contrast  with  a  foreigner,  to  be  merely 
an  American.  And  yet  in  spite  of  all  this  each  single  state  holds 
obstinately  to  its  separate  rights.  It  is  the  same  principle  which 
we  have  seen  at  work  in  the  American  individual.  The  more  the 
individuals  or  the  states  resemble  one  another  the  more  they  seem 
determined  to  preserve  their  autonomy;  the  more  similar  the  sub- 
stance, the  sharper  must  be  the  distinctions,  in  form. 

The  inner  similarity  of  the  different  states  is  shown  by  the  fact 
that,  while  each  one  has  its  own  statute-book  and  an  upper  court 
which  jealously  guards  its  special  constitution,  nevertheless  all 
of  the  forty-five  state  constitutions  are  framed  very  much  alike. 
The  Constitution  of  the  United  States  would  by  no  means  require 
this,  since  it  prescribes  merely  that  every  state  constitution  shall  be 
republican  in  form;  and  yet  not  a  single  state  has  taken  advantage 
of  its  great  freedom.  The  constitutions  of  the  older  states  were 
modelled  partly  on  the  institutions  of  the  English  fatherland, 
partly  on  those  of  colonial  days;  and  when  many  of  these  features 
were  finally  embodied  in  the  Federal  Constitution,  they  were  re- 
flected back  once  more  in  the  constitutions  of  the  states  which  later 
came  to  be.  The  new  states  have  simply  borrowed  the  general 
structure  of  the  older  states  and  of  the  Federation,  without  much 
statesmanlike  imagination;  although  here  and  there  is  some  adapt- 
ation to  special  circumstances.  There  are  indeed  some  odd  dif- 
ferences at  superficial  points,  and  inasmuch  as,  in  contrast  to  the 
Federal  Constitution,  the  state  constitutions  have  frequently  been 
reshaped  by  the  people,  a  reactionary  tendency  or  some  radical 
and  hasty  innovation  has  here  and  there  been  incorporated. 

The  principles,  however,  are  everywhere  the  same.     Each  state 


n8  THE  AMERICANS 

has  framed  a  reduced  copy  of  the  Federal  Constitution,  and  one 
finds  a  still  more  diminutive  representation  of  the  same  thing  in 
the  American  city  charter.  Yet  we  must  not  forget  here  that, 
although  theoretically  and  constitutionally  the  state  is  greater 
than  the  city,  yet  in  fact  the  city  of  New  York  has  a  population 
eighty  times  as  large  as  the  State  of  Nevada,  with  its  bare  40,000 
inhabitants;  or,  again,  that  the  budget  of  the  State  of  Massachu- 
setts is  hardly  a  quarter  as  large  as  that  of  Boston,  its  capital  city. 

Thus,  like  the  Union,  both  city  and  state  have  a  charter  and  an 
executive,  a  dual  legislature,  and  a  judiciary,  all  of  which  repro- 
duce on  a  small  scale  all  the  special  features  of  the  federal  organ- 
ization. The  city  charter  is  different  from  that  of  the  state,  in 
that  it  is  not  drawn  up  by  the  inhabitants  of  the  city,  but,  as  we 
have  said,  has  to  be  granted  by  the  state  legislature.  The  head 
of  the  state  executive,  the  governor,  is  in  a  way  a  small  president, 
who  is  elected  directly  by  the  people,  generally  for  a  two  years' 
term  of  office.  In  the  city  government  the  mayor  corresponds  to 
him,  and  is  likewise  elected  by  the  citizens  ;  and  in  the  larger 
cities  for  the  same  period.  A  staff  of  executive  officers  is  provided 
for  both  the  mayor  and  the  governor. 

Under  the  city  government  are  ranged  the  heads  of  departments, 
who  are  generally  chosen  by  the  mayor  himself;  New  York,  for 
instance,  has  eighteen  such  divisions  —  the  departments  of  finance, 
taxation,  law,  police,  health,  fire,  buildings,  streets,  water-supply, 
bridges,  education,  charities,  penal  institutions,  park-ways,  pub- 
lic buildings,  etc.  The  most  important  officials  under  the  state 
government  are  always  the  state  secretary,  the  state  attorney- 
general,  and  the  treasurer.  Close  to  the  governor  stands  the 
lieutenant-governor,  who,  after  the  pattern  of  the  federal  gov- 
ernment, is  president  of  the  upper  legislative  chamber.  The  gov- 
ernor is  empowered  to  convene  the  legislature,  to  approve  or  to 
veto  all  state  measures,  to  pardon  criminals,  to  appoint  many  of 
the  lower  officials,  although  generally  his  appointment  must  be 
confirmed  by  the  upper  legislative  body,  and  he  is  invariably  in 
sole  command  of  the  state  militia.  The  legislature  of  the  state 
is  always,  and  that  of  the  cities  generally,  divided  into  two 
chambers.  Here  again  the  membership  in  the  upper  cham- 
ber is  smaller  than  that  of  the  lower  and  more  difficult  to  obtain. 
Often  the  state  legislature  does  not  meet  in  the  largest  city,  but 


CITY  AND  STATE  u9 

makes  for  itself  a  sort  of  political  oasis,  a  diminutive  Washington. 
The  term  of  office  in  the  legislature  is  almost  always  two  years, 
and  everywhere  the  same  committee  system  is  followed  as  at  the 
Capitol  in  Washington.  Only  a  member  of  the  legislative  body 
can  propose  bills,  and  such  propositions  are  referred  at  once  to  a 
special  committee,  where  they  are  discussed  and  perhaps  buried. 
They  can  come  to  the  house  only  through  the  hands  of  this  com- 
mittee. The  freedom  given  to  the  state  legislature  is  somewhat 
less  than  that  given  by  the  Constitution  to  Congress.  While  all 
the  parliamentary  methods  are  strikingly  and  often  very  naively 
copied  after  those  in  use  at  Washington,  the  state  constitutions  were 
careful  from  the  outset  that  certain  matters  should  not  be  subject 
to  legislative  egotism.  On  the  other  hand  the  state  legislature 
hands  down  many  of  its  rights  to  inferior  bodies,  such  as  district, 
county,  and  city  administrations;  but  in  all  these  cases  in  which 
there  is  a  real  transfer  of  powers,  it  is  characteristic  that  these  really 
pertain  to  the  state  as  such,  and  can,  therefore,  be  withdrawn  by 
the  state  legislatures  from  the  smaller  districts  at  any  time. 

The  entire  administration  of  the  state  falls  to  the  state 
legislature;  that  is,  the  measures  for  public  instruction,  taxation, 
public  works,  and  the  public  debt,  penal  institutions,  the  super- 
vision of  railroads,  corporations,  factories,  and  commerce.  In 
addition  to  this  there  are  the  civil  and  criminal  statutes,  with  the 
exception  of  those  few  cases  which  the  Constitution  reserves  for 
federal  legislation;  and,  finally,  there  is  the  granting  of  franchises 
and  monopolies  to  public  and  industrial  corporations.  Of  course, 
within  this  authority  there  is  nothing  which  concerns  the  relation 
of  one  state  to  other  states  or  to  foreign  powers,  nor  anything  of 
customs  revenues  or  other  such  matters  as  are  enacted  uniformly 
for  all  parts  of  the  country  by  the  federal  government.  The 
state  has,  however,  the  right  to  fix  the  conditions  under  which 
an  immigrant  may  become  a  naturalized  citizen;  and  a  foreigner 
becomes  an  American  citizen  by  being  naturalized  under  the  law 
of  any  one  of  the  forty-five  states.  All  this  gives  an  exceedingly 
large  field  of  action  to  state  legislatures,  and  it  is  astonishing 
how  little  dissimilar  are  the  provisions  which  the  different  states 
have  enacted. 

The  city  governments  are  very  diverse  in  size,  but  in  all  the 
larger  cities  consist  of  two  houses.  The  German  reader  must  not 


izo  THE  AMERICANS 

suppose  that  these  work  together  like  the  German  magistrate  and 
the  municipal  representative  assembly.  Since  in  America  the 
legislative  and  executive  are  always  sharply  sundered,  the  heads  of 
departments  under  the  executive  —  that  is,  the  German  Stadtrate 
—  have  no  place  in  the  law-making  body.  The  dual  legislative 
is,  therefore,  in  a  way  an  upper  and  lower  municipal  representative 
assembly,  elected  in  different  ways  and  having  similar  differences 
in  function  as  the  two  chambers  of  Congress.  Here  too,  for 
instance,  bills  of  appropriation  have  to  originate  in  the  lower 
house.  Oddly  enough,  the  city  legislative  is  generally  not  entrusted 
with  education,  but  this  is  administered  by  a  separate  municipal 
board,  elected  directly  by  the  people.  One  who  becomes  ac- 
quainted with  the  intellectual  composition  of  the  average  city 
father,  will  find  this  separation  of  educational  matters  not  at  all 
surprising,  and  very  beneficent  and  reasonable. 

In  general,  one  may  say  that  the  mayor  is  more  influential  in 
the  city  government  than  that  body  which  represents  the  citizens; 
this  in  contrast  to  the  situation  in  the  state  government,  where  the 
governor  is  relatively  less  influential  than  the  legislature.  The 
chief  function  of  the  governor  is  really  a  negative  one,  that  of 
affixing  his  veto  from  time  to  time  on  an  utterly  impossible  law. 
The  mayor,  on  the  other  hand,  can  shape  things  and  leave  the 
stamp  of  his  personality  on  his  city.  In  the  state,  as  in  the  city,  it 
often  happens  that  the  head  of  the  executive  and  a  majority  of  the 
legislative  belong  to  opposite  parties,  and  this  not  because  the 
party  issues  are  forgotten  in  the  local  elections,  but  because  the 
methods  of  election  are  different. 

The  division  of  public  affairs  into  city  and  state  issues  leaves,  of 
course,  room  for  still  a  third  group,  namely,  the  affairs  of  com- 
munities which  are  still  smaller  than  cities.  These,  too,  derive 
their  authority  entirely  from  the  state  legislature,  but  all  states 
leave  considerable  independence  to  the  smaller  political  units.  In 
local  village  government  the  historic  differences  of  the  various  re- 
gions show  out  more  clearly  than  in  either  state  or  city  government. 
The  large  cities  are  to  all  intents  and  purposes  cast  in  the  same 
mould  everywhere;  their  like  needs  have  developed  like  forms  of 
life;  and  the  coming  together  of  great  numbers  of  people  have 
everywhere  created  the  same  economic  situation.  But  the  scat- 
tered population  gets  its  social  and  economic  articulation  in  the 


CITY  AND  STATE  121 

North,  South,  and  West,  in  quite  different  ways;  and  this  differ- 
ence, at  an  early  time  when  the  problems  of  a  large  city  were  so 
far  not  known,  led  to  different  types  of  village  organizations,  which 
have  been  historically  preserved. 

When  the  English  colonies  were  growing  up,  the  differences 
in  this  connection  between  the  New  England  states  and  Virginia 
were  extreme.  The  colonies  on  the  northern  shores,  with  their 
bays  and  harbours,  their  hilly  country  and  large  forests,  could  not 
spread  their  population,  out  over  large  tracts  of  land,  and  were 
concentrated  within  limited  regions;  and  this  tendency  was  fur- 
ther emphasized  by  Puritan  traditions,  which  required  the  popu- 
lation to  take  active  part  in  church  services.  There  naturally  was 
developed  a  local  form  of  government  for  small  districts,  which 
corresponded  to  old  English  traditions.  The  citizens  gathered 
from  all  parts  of  every  district  to  discuss  their  common  affairs  and 
to  decide  what  taxes  should  be  raised,  what  streets  built,  and,  most 
of  all,  what  should  be  done  for  their  churches  and  schools,  and  for 
the  poor.  In  Virginia,  on  the  other  hand,  where  very  large 
plantations  were  laid  out,  there  could  be  no  such  small  com- 
munities; the  population  was  more  scattered,  and  affairs  of  general 
interest  had  necessarily  to  be  entrusted  to  special  representatives, 
who  were  in  part  elected  by  small  parishes  and  in  part  appointed 
by  the  governor.  The  political  unit  here  was  not  the  town,  but  the 
county. 

The  difference  in  these  two  types  is  the  more  worthy  of  consider- 
ation because  it  explains  how  the  North  and  South  have  been  able 
to  contribute  such  different  and  yet  such  equally  valuable  factors 
to  all  the  great  events  of  American  history.  New  England  and 
Virginia  were  the  two  centres  of  influence  in  Revolutionary  times 
and  when  the  Union  was  being  completed,  but  their  influences 
were  wholly  different.  New  England  served  the  country  by 
effecting  an  extraordinarily  thorough  education  of  its  masses,  by 
giving  them  a  long  schooling  in  local  self-government;  each  in- 
dividual was  obliged  to  meditate  on  public  affairs.  Virginia, 
however,  gave  to  the  country  its  brilliant  leaders;  the  masses  re- 
mained backward,  but  the  county  representatives  practised  and 
trained  themselves  to  the  role  of  leading  statesmen.  Between 
these  two  extremes  lay  the  Middle  Atlantic  States,  where  a  mixed 
form  of  town  and  county  representation  had  necessarily  developed 


122  THE  AMERICANS 

from  the  social  conditions;  and  these  three  types,  the  Northern, 
Southern,  and  mixed,  worked  slowly  back  during  the  nineteenth 
century  from  the  coast  toward  the  West.  Settlers  in  the  new  states 
carried  with  them  their  familiar  forms  of  local  government,  so 
that  to-day  these  three  forms  may  still  be  found  through  the  coun- 
try. To-day  the  chief  functions  of  town  governments  are  public 
instruction,  care  for  the  poor,  and  the  building  of  roads.  Re- 
ligious life  is,  of  course,  here  as  in  the  city,  state,  and  Union,  wholly 
separated  from  the  political  organization.  The  police  systems 
of  these  local  governments  in  town  and  village  are  wholly  rudi- 
mentary. While  the  police  system  is  perhaps  the  most  difficult 
chapter  in  American  city  government,  the  country  districts  have 
always  done  very  well  with  almost  none.  This  reflects  the  moral 
vigour  of  the  American  rural  population.  The  people  sleep  every- 
where with  their  front  doors  open,  and  everywhere  presuppose  the 
willing  assistance  of  their  neighbours.  It  was  not  until  great 
populations  commenced  to  gather  in  cities,  that  those  social  evils 
arose,  of  which  the  police  system,  which  was  created  to  obviate 
them,  is  itself  not  the  least. 

Any  one  overlooking  this  interplay  of  public  forces  sees  that  in 
town  and  city,  state  and  Union,  it  is  not  a  question  of  forcing  ad- 
ministrative energies  into  a  prescribed  sphere  of  action.  They 
expand  everywhere  as  they  will,  both  from  the  smaller  to  the  larger 
sphere  and  from  the  larger  to  the  smaller.  Therefore,  the  Union 
naturally  desires  to  take  on  itself  those  functions  of  state  legisla- 
tion in  which  a  lack  of  uniformity  would  be  dangerous;  as,  for 
instance,  the  divorce  laws,  the  discrepancies  in  which  between 
different  states  are  so  great  that  the  necessity  of  more  uniform 
divorce  regulations  is  ever  becoming  more  keenly  felt.  At  pres- 
ent it  is  a  fact  that  a  man  who  is  divorced  under  the  laws  of 
Dakota  and  marries  again  can  be  punished  in  New  York  for 
bigamy.  A  similar  situation  exists  in  regard  to  certain  trade 
regulations,  where  there  are  unfortunate  discrepancies.  Many 
opponents  of  the  trusts  want  even  an  amendment  to  the  Consti- 
tution which  will  bring  them  under  federal  law,  and  prevent  these 
huge  industrial  concerns  from  incorporating  under  the  too  lax 
laws  of  certain  states. 

Still  easier  is  it  for  the  states  to  interfere  in  the  city  govern- 
ments. If  the  Union  wishes  to  make  new  regulations  for  the  state, 


CITT  AND  STATE  123 

the  Federal  Constitution  has  to  be  amended;  while  if  the  state 
wants  to  hold  a  tighter  rein  on  city  government  it  can  do  so  di- 
rectly, for,  as  we  have  seen,  the  cities  derive  all  their  powers  from 
the  state  legislature.  There  is,  indeed,  considerable  tendency 
now  to  restrict  the  privileges  of  cities,  and  much  of  this  is  sound, 
especially  where  the  state  authority  is  against  open  municipal 
corruption.  The  general  tendency  is  increasing  to  give  the  state 
considerable  rights  of  supervision  over  matters  of  local  hygiene, 
industrial  conditions,  penal  and  benevolent  institutions.  The  ad- 
vantages of  uniformity  which  accrue  from  state  supervision  are 
emphasized  by  many  persons,  and  still  more  the  advantage  de- 
rived from  handing  over  hygienic,  technical,  and  pedagogical  ques- 
tions to  the  well-paid  state  experts,  instead  of  leaving  them  to  the 
inexperience  of  small  districts  and  towns.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
on  these  lines  the  functions  of  the  state  are  being  extended  slowly 
but  steadily. 

Then  again  the  cities  and  towns  in  their  turn  are  tending  to 
absorb  once  more  such  forces  as  are  subordinate  to  them,  and  thus 
to  increase  the  municipal  functions.  The  fundamental  principles 
which  have  dominated  the  economic  life  in  the  United  States  and 
brought  it  to  a  healthful  development,  leave  the  greatest  possible 
play  for  private  initiative;  thus  not  very  long  ago  it  was  a  matter 
of  course  that  the  water  supply,  the  street  lighting,  the  steam  and 
electric  railways  should  be  wholly  in  the  hands  of  private  com- 
panies. A  change  is  coming  into  these  affairs,  for  it  is  clearly  seen 
that  industries  of  this  sort  are  essentially  different  from  ordinary 
business  undertakings,  not  only  because  they  make  use  of  public 
roads,  but  also  because  such  plants  necessarily  gain  monopolies 
which  find  it  easy  to  levy  tribute  upon  the  public.  In  recent 
years,  therefore,  city  governments  have  little  by  little  taken  over 
the  water  supplies,  and  tend  somewhat  to  limit  the  sphere  of  other 
private  undertakings  of  this  sort  —  as,  for  instance,  that  of  street- 
lighting.  At  the  same  time  there  is  an  unmistakable  tendency 
for  city  and  town  to  undertake  certain  tasks  which  are  not  eco- 
nomically necessary,  and  which  have  been  left  hitherto  to  private 
initiative.  Cities  are  building  bath-houses  and  laundries,  play- 
grounds and  gymnasiums,  and  more  especially  public  libraries 
and  museums,  providing  concerts  and  other  kinds  of  amusements 
and  bureaus  for  the  registration  of  those  needing  employment;  in 


124-  THE  AMERICANS 

short,  are  everywhere  taking  up  newly  arisen  duties  and  perform- 
ing them  at  public  expense. 

There  is,  on  the  other  hand,  a  strong  counter-current  to  these 
tendencies  of  the  large  units  to  perform  the  duties  of  the  small  — 
the  strong  those  of  the  weak,  the  city  those  of  the  individual,  the 
state  those  of  the  city,  and  the  Union  those  of  the  state.  The  op- 
position begins  already  in  the  smallest  circle  of  all,  where  one  sees 
a  strong  anti-centralizing  tendency.  The  county  or  city  is  not 
entitled,  it  is  said,  to  expend  the  taxpayers'  money  for  luxuries  or 
for  purposes  other  than  those  of  general  utility.  It  should  be  gen- 
erous philanthropists  or  private  organizations  that  build  museums 
and  libraries,  bath-houses  and  gymnasiums,  but  not  the  city, 
which  gets  its  money  from  the  pockets  of  the  working  classes.  Al- 
though optimists  have  proposed  it,  there  will  certainly  be  for  a 
long  time  yet  no  subsidized  municipal  theatres;  and  it  is  notice- 
able that  the  liberal  offers  of  Carnegie  to  erect  public  libraries  are 
being  more  and  more  declined  by  various  town  councils,  because 
Carnegie's  plan  of  foundation  calls  for  a  considerable  augmenta- 
tion from  the  public  funds.  And  wherever  it  is  a  question  of  in- 
dispensable services,  such  as  tramways  and  street-lighting,  the 
majority  generally  says  that  it  is  cheaper  every  time  to  pay  a  small 
profit  to  a  private  company  than  to  undertake  a  large  business  at 
the  public  expense.  From  the  American  point  of  view  private 
companies  are  often  too  economical,  while  public  enterprises  are 
invariably  shamelessly  wasteful. 

The  city  pays  too  dear  and  borrows  at  too  high  a  rate;  in  short, 
regulates  its  transactions  without  that  wholesome  pressure  exert- 
ed by  stockholders  who  are  looking  for  dividends.  Worst  of  all, 
the  undertakings  which  are  carried  on  by  municipalities  are  often 
simply  handed  over  to  political  corruption.  Instead  of  trained 
experts,  political  wire-pullers  of  the  party  in  office  are  employed 
in  all  the  best-paid  positions,  and  even  where  no  money  is  con- 
sciously wasted,  a  gradual  laxness  creeps  in  little  by  little,  which 
makes  the  service  worse  than  it  would  ever  be  in  a  private  com- 
pany, which  stands  all  the  time  in  fear  of  competition.  For  this 
reason  the  American  is  absolutely  against  entrusting  railroads  and 
telegraph  lines  to  the  hands  of  the  state.  When  a  large  telegraph 
company  did  not  adequately  serve  the  needs  of  the  public,  another 
concern  spread  its  network  of  wires  through  the  whole  country; 


CITY  AND  STATE  125 

and  since  then  the  Western  Union  and  Postal  Telegraph  have  been 
in  competition,  and  the  public  has  been  admirably  served.  But 
what  relief  would  there  have  been  if  the  state  had  had  a  monopoly 
of  the  telegraph  lines,  with  politicians  in  charge  who  would  have 
been  indifferent  to  public  demands  ?  The  wish  to  be  economical,  to 
keep  business  out  of  politics,  and  to  keep  competition  open,  all  work 
together,  so  that  the  extension  of  municipal  functions,  although 
ardently  wished  on  many  sides,  goes  on  very  slowly;  and  it  is 
justly  pointed  out  that  whenever  private  corporations  in  any  way 
abuse  their  privileges  the  community  at  large  has  certainly  plenty 
of  means  for  supervising  them,  and  of  giving  them  franchises  un- 
der such  conditions  as  shall  amply  protect  public  interests.  When 
a  private  company  wishes  to  use  public  streets  for  its  car-tracks, 
gas  or  water  pipes,  or  electric  wires,  the  community  can  easily 
enough  grant  the  permission  for  a  limited  length  of  time,  reserv- 
ing perhaps  the  right  to  purchase  or  requiring  a  substantial  pay- 
ment for  the  franchise  and  a  portion  of  the  profits,  and  can  leave 
the  rest  to  public  watchfulness  and  to  the  regular  publication  of 
the  company's  reports.  It  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  the  tendencies 
in  this  direction  are  to-day  very  marked. 

Just  as  private  initiative  is  trying  not  to  be  swallowed  up  by  the 
community,  so  the  community  is  trying  to  save  itself  from  the  state. 
So  far  as  the  village,  town,  or  county  is  concerned,  nobody  de- 
nies that  state  experts  could  afford  a  better  public  service  than  the 
inexperienced  local  boards,  and,  nevertheless,  it  is  felt  that  every 
place  knows  best  after  all  just  what  is  adapted  to  its  own  needs. 
The  closest  adaptation  to  local  desires,  as,  say,  in  questions  of 
public  schools  and  roads,  has  been  always  a  fundamental  Ameri- 
can principle.  This  principle  started  originally  from  the  peculiar 
conditions  which  existed  in  the  several  colonies  and  from  the 
needs  of  the  pioneers;  but  it  has  led  to  such  a  steady  progress  in 
the  country's  development  that  no  American  would  care  to  give  it 
up,  even  if  here  and  there  certain  advantages  could  be  had  by  in- 
troducing greater  uniformities.  There  is  a  still  more  urgent 
motive;  it  is  only  this  opportunity  of  regulating  the  affairs  of  the 
small  district  which  gives  to  every  community,  even  every  neigh- 
bourhood, the  necessary  schooling  for  the  public  duties  of  the 
American  citizen.  If  he  is  deprived  of  the  right  to  take  care  of  his 
own  district,  that  spirit  of  self-determination  and  independence 


126  THE  AMERICANS 

cannot  develop,  on  which  the  success  of  the  American  experiment 
in  democracy  entirely  depends.  Political  pedagogy  requires  that 
the  state  shall  respect  the  individuality  of  the  small  community  so 
far  as  this  is  in  any  way  possible. 

The  relation  between  the  city  and  the  state  is  somewhat  differ- 
ent; no  one  would  ask  the  parliamentarians  of  the  state  legislature 
to  hold  off  in  order  that  the  population  of  the  large  city  may  have 
the  opportunity  to  keep  their  political  interests  alive  and  to  pre- 
serve their  spirit  of  self-determination.  This  spirit  is  at  home  in 
the  streets  of  the  great  city;  it  is  not  only  wide-awake  there,  but  it 
is  clamorous  and  almost  too  urgent.  When,  now,  the  munic- 
ipalities in  their  struggle  against  the  dictation  of  the  state,  meet 
with  the  sympathies  of  intelligent  people,  this  is  owing  to  the  sim- 
ple fact  that  the  city,  in  which  all  cultured  interests  are  gathered 
generally,  has  in  all  matters  a  higher  point  of  view  than  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  entire  state,  in  which  the  more  primitive  rural 
population  predominates.  When,  for  instance,  the  provincial 
members  which  the  State  of  New  York  has  elected  meet  in  Albany, 
and  with  their  rural  majority  make  regulations  for  governing  the 
three  million  citizens  of  New  York  City,  regulations  which  are  per- 
haps paternally  well  meant,  but  which  sometimes  show  a  petty 
distrust  and  disapproval  of  that  great  and  wicked  place,  the  re- 
sult is  often  grotesque.  The  state  laws,  however,  favour  this  sort 
of  dictation. 

The  state  constitutions  still  show  in  this  respect  the  condition  of 
things  at  a  time  in  which  the  city  as  such  had  hardly  come  into 
recognition.  The  nineteenth  century  began  in  America  with  six 
cities  of  over  eight  thousand  inhabitants,  and  ended  with  545. 
Moreover,  in  1800  those  six  places  contained  less  than  four  per 
cent,  of  the  population,  while  in  1900  the  545  cities  contained  more 
than  thirty-three  per  cent,  thereof.  Since  only  a  twenty-fifth  part 
of  the  nation  lived  in  cities,  the  greater  power  of  the  scattered  pro- 
vincial population  seemed  natural;  but  when  now  a  third  of  the 
nation  prefers  city  life,  and  especially  the  more  intelligent,  more 
educated,  and  wealthy  third,  the  limitations  to  independent 
municipal  rights  become  an  obstacle  to  culture. 

Finally,  the  states  themselves  are  opposing  on  good  grounds 
every  assumption  of  rights  by  the  Federation  —  the  same  good 
grounds,  indeed,  which  the  community  has  for  opposing  the  state, 


CITY  AND  STATE  127 

and  many  others  besides.  It  is  felt  that  historically  it  has  been  the 
initiative  of  individuals  rather  than  of  the  central  government 
which  has  helped  the  nation  to  make  its  tremendous  strides  for- 
ward, and  that  this  initiative  should  not  only  be  rewarded  with 
privileges,  but  should  also  be  stimulated  by  duties.  The  more 
nearly  one  state  is  like  another,  so  much  the  more  energetically 
does  it  forbid  the  others  to  interfere  in  its  affairs;  and  the  more  it 
is  like  the  Union  the  more  earnestly  it  seeks  not  to  let  its  distinct 
individuality  be  swallowed  up.  Besides  the  moral  effort  toward 
state  individuality,  there  is  a  powerful  state  egotism  at  work  in 
many  states  which  makes  for  the  same  end.  Back  of  everything, 
finally,  there  is  the  fear  of  the  purely  political  dangers  which  are 
involved  in  an  exaggerated  centralization.  We  have  seen  in  this 
a  fundamental  sentiment  of  the  Democratic  party. 

Thus  at  every  step  in  the  political  organization  centrifugal  and 
centripetal  forces  stand  opposite  each  other  in  the  Federal  Union, 
in  the  state,  in  the  county,  and  in  the  city.  And  public  opinion  is 
busy  discussing  the  arguments  on  both  sides.  Every  day  sees 
movements  in  one  or  the  other  direction,  and  there  is  never  any 
let  up.  In  all  these  discussions  it  is  a  question  of  conflicting  prin- 
ciples, which  in  themselves  seem  just.  There  is,  however,  an- 
other contrast  —  that  between  principle  and  lack  of  principle.  In 
the  Union,  the  state,  and  the  city,  centralists  and  anti-centralists 
meet  on  questions  of  law;  but  in  each  one  of  these  places  there  are 
groups  of  people  working  against  the  law  and  trying  in  every  way 
to  get  around  it.  In  these  discussions  there  is  a  true  and  false,  but 
in  the  conflicts  there  is  a  right  and  wrong;  and  here  argumentation 
is  not  needed,  but  sheer  resistance.  If  one  does  not  purposely 
close  one's  eyes,  one  cannot  doubt  that  the  public  life  of  America 
holds  certain  abuses,  which  are  against  the  spirit  of  the  Constitu- 
tion and  which  too  often  come  near  to  being  criminal.  One  can 
ask,  to  be  sure,  if  that  lack  of  conscience  does  not  have  place 
in  every  form  of  state  in  one  way  or  another,  and  if  the  necessity 
of  developing  a  sound  public  spirit  to  fight  against  abuse  may  itself 
not  be  an  important  factor  in  helping  on  the  spirit  of  self-deter- 
mination to  victory. 

Any  one  who  should  write  the  history  of  disorganizing  forces  in 
American  public  life  will  have  the  least  to  say  about  federal  poli- 
tics, a  good  deal  more  about  those  of  the  state,  and  most  of  all 


128  THE  AMERICANS 

about  those  of  the  city.  Certain  types  of  temptation  are  repeated 
at  every  stage.  There  is,  for  instance,  the  legislative  committee, 
which  is  found  alike  in  Congress,  in  the  state  legislatures,  and  in 
the  city  councils.  Bills  are  virtually  decided  at  first  by  two  or 
three  persons  who  exert  their  influence  behind  the  closed  doors 
of  the  committee  room;  and  naturally  enough  corrupt  influences 
can  much  more  easily  make  their  way  there  than  in  the  discussions 
of  the  whole  house.  If  a  municipal  committee  has  a  bill  under 
discussion,  the  acceptance  of  which  means  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  dollars  saved  or  lost  to  the  street  railway  company,  then  certain- 
ly, although  the  president  and  directors  of  the  company  will  not 
themselves  take  any  unlawful  action,  yet  in  some  way  some  less 
scrupulous  agent  will  step  in  who  will  single  out  a  bar-keeper 
or  hungry  advocate  or  fourth-class  politician  in  the  committee, 
who  might  be  amenable  to  certain  gilded  arguments.  And  if 
this  agent  finds  no  such  person  he  will  find  some  one  else  who  does 
not  care  for  money,  but  who  would  like  very  well  to  see  his 
brother-in-law  given  a  good  position  in  the  railway  company,  or 
perhaps  to  see  the  track  extended  past  his  own  house. 

Of  course  the  same  thing  happens  when  a  measure  is  brought 
before  the  state  legislature,  and  the  vote  of  some  obscure  provin- 
cial attorney  on  the  committee  means  millions  of  dollars  to  the 
banking  firm,  the  trust,  the  mining  company,  or  the  industrial 
community  as  a  whole.  Here  the  lobby  gets  in  its  work.  The 
different  states  are,  of  course,  very  different  in  this  respect;  the 
cruder  forms  of  bribery  would  not  avail  in  Massachusetts  and 
would  be  very  dangerous;  but  they  feel  differently  about  such 
things  in  Montana.  As  we  have  already  said,  Congress  is  free  of 
such  taints. 

Another  source  of  temptation,  which  likewise  exists  for  all 
American  law-giving  bodies,  arises  from  the  fact  that  all  measures 
must  be  proposed  by  the  members  of  such  body.  Thus  local 
needs  are  taken  care  of  by  the  activity  of  the  popular  representa- 
tives, and,  therefore,  the  number  of  bills  proposed  becomes 
very  large.  Just  as  during  the  last  session  of  Congress,  17,000 
measures  were  proposed  in  the  lower  house,  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  bills  are  brought  before  the  state  legislatures  and  city 
councils.  There  is  never  a  lack  of  reasons  for  bringing  up  super- 
fluous bills.  And  since  the  system  of  secret  committees  makes  it 


CITY  AND  STATE  129 

difficult  for  the  individual  representative  to  appear  before  the 
whole  house  and  to  make  a  speech,  it  follows  that  the  introduction 
of  a  few  bills  is  almost  the  only  way  in  which  the  politician  can 
show  his  constituency  that  he  was  not  elected  to  the  legislature  in 
vain,  and  that  he  is  actually  representing  the  interests  of  his  sup- 
porters. A  milder  form  of  this  abuse  consists  of  handing  in  bills 
which  are  framed  by  reason  of  personal  friendships  or  hatreds; 
and  the  same  thing  appears  in  uglier  form  when  it  is  not  a  question 
of  personal  favour,  but  of  services  bought  and  paid  for,  not  of 
personal  hatred,  but  of  a  systematic  conspiracy  to  extort  money 
from  those  who  need  legislation.  The  milder  form  of  wrong- 
doing, in  which  it  is  only  a  question  of  personal  favours,  can  be 
found  everywhere,  even  in  the  Capitol  at  Washington,  and  the 
much-boasted  Senatorial  courtesy  lends  a  sort  of  sanction  to  the 
abuse. 

This  evil  is  strengthened,  as  it  perhaps  originated,  by  the  tacit 
recognition  of  the  principle  that  every  legislator  represents,  first  of 
all,  his  local  district.  It  is  not  expected  of  a  senator  that  he  shall 
look  at  every  question  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  general  wel- 
fare, but  rather  that  he  shall  take  first  of  all  the  point  of  view  of  his 
state.  It  has  indeed  been  urged  that  the  senator  is  nothing  but 
an  ambassador  sent  to  represent  his  state  before  the  federal  gov- 
ernment. If  this  is  so,  it  follows  at  once  that  no  state  delegate 
ought  to  have  any  control  over  the  interests  of  another  state,  and 
so  the  wishes  of  any  senator  should  be  final  in  all  matters  pertain- 
ing to  his  own  state.  From  this  it  is  only  a  small  step  to  the  exist- 
ing order  of  things,  in  which  every  senator  is  seconded  on  his  own 
proposals  by  his  colleagues,  if  he  will  second  them  on  theirs.  In 
this  way  each  delegate  has  the  chance  to  place  the  law-giving 
machinery  at  the  service  of  those  who  will  in  any  way  advance  his 
political  popularity  among  his  constituents,  and  help  him  during 
his  next  candidacy.  And  then,  too,  a  good  deal  is  done  merely  for 
appearances;  bills  are  entered,  printed,  and  circulated  in  the  local 
papers  to  tickle  the  spirits  of  constituents,  while  the. proposer 
himself  has  not  supposed  for  a  moment  that  his  proposition  will 
pass  the  committee.  Things  go  in  the  state  legislatures  in  quite 
the  same  way.  Each  member  is  first  of  all  the  representative  of 
his  own  district,  and  he  claims  a  certain  right  of  not  being  inter- 
fered with  in  matters  which  concern  that  district.  In  this  way  he 


j3o  THE  AMERICANS 

is  accorded  great  freedom  to  grant  all  sorts  of  legislative  favours 
which  will  bring  him  sufficient  returns,  or  to  carry  through  legal 
intrigues  to  the  injury  of  his  political  opponents.  And  here  in  the 
state  legislature,  as  in  the  city  council,  where  the  same  principles 
are  in  use,  there  is  the  best  possible  chance  of  selling  one's  friendly 
services  at  their  market  value.  If  a  railroad  company  sees  a  bill 
for  public  safety  proposed  which  is  technically  senseless  and  ex- 
aggerated, which  will  impede  traffic  in  the  state,  and  involve  ruin- 
ous expenditures,  it  will  naturally  be  tempted  not  to  sit  idle  in  the 
hope  that  a  majority  of  the  committee  will  set  the  bill  aside;  for 
that  course  would  be  hazardous.  It  may  be  that  all  sorts  of  prej- 
udices will  work  together  toward  reporting  the  bill  favourably. 
If  the  company  wants  to  be  secure,  it  will  rather  try  such  argu- 
ments as  only  capitalists  have  at  their  command.  And  it  has  here 
two  ways  open:  either  to  "convince"  the  committee  or  else  to 
make  arrangements  with  the  man  who  proposed  the  bill,  so  that 
he  shall  recall  it.  If  the  possibility  of  such  doings  once  exists  in 
politics,  there  is  no  means  of  preventing  dishonourable  persons 
from  making  money  in  such  ways;  not  only  do  they  yield  to  temp- 
tation after  they  have  been  elected,  but  also  they  seek  their  elec- 
tions solely  in  order  to  exploit  just  such  opportunities. 

Here  we  meet  that  factor  which  distinguishes  the  state  legis- 
lature, particularly  of  those  states  whose  traditions  are  less  firmly 
grounded,  and  still  more  the  city  councils,  so  completely  from  the 
federal  chambers  in  Washington.  The  chance  to  misuse  office 
is  alike  in  all  three  places,  but  men  who  have  entered  the  politi- 
cal arena  with  honourable  motives  very  seldom  yield  to  criminal 
temptation.  The  usual  abuses  are  committed  almost  wholly  by 
men  who  have  sought  their  political  office  solely  for  the  sake  of 
criminal  opportunities;  and  this  class  of  pseudo-politicians  can 
bring  itself  into  the  city  council  very  easily,  in  the  state  legislature 
without  much  difficulty,  but  almost  never  into  Congress.  If  it  were 
attractive  or  distinguished  or  interesting  to  be  in  the  state  legisla- 
ture, or  on  the  board  of  aldermen,  there  would  be  a  plenty  of 
worthy  applicants  for  the  position,  and  all  doubtful  persons  would 
find  the  door  closed;  but  the  actual  case  is  quite  different. 

To  be  a  member  of  Congress,  to  sit  in  the  House  of  Represen- 
tatives or  perhaps  in  the  Senate,  is  something  which  the  very  best 
men  may  well  desire.  The  position  is  conspicuous  and  pictu- 


CITY  AND  STATE  131 

resque,  and  against  the  background  of  high  political  life  the  in- 
dividual feels  himself  entrusted  with  an  important  role.  And  al- 
though many  may  hesitate  to  transfer  their  homes  to  the  federal 
capital,  nevertheless  the  country  has  never  had  difficulty  in  find- 
ing sufficient  Representatives  who  are  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the 
Constitution.  On  the  other  hand,  to  serve  as  popular  represen- 
tative in  the  state  legislature  means  for  the  better  sort  of  man,  un- 
less he  is  a  professional  politician,  a  considerable  sacrifice.  The 
legislature  generally  meets  in  a  remote  part  of  the  state,  at  every 
session  requires  many  months  of  busy  work  on  some  committee, 
and  most  of  this  work  is  nothing  but  disputing  and  compromising 
over  the  thousand  petty  bills,  in  which  no  really  broad  political 
considerations  enter.  It  is  a  dreary,  dispiriting  work,  which  can 
attract  only  three  kinds  of  men :  firstly,  those  who  are  looking  for- 
ward to  a  political  career  in  the  service  of  the  party  machine  and 
undergo  a  term  in  the  state  legislature  only  as  preparation  for 
some  more  important  office;  secondly,  those  who  are  glad  of  the 
small  and  meagre  salary  of  a  representative;  and  finally,  those 
whose  modest  ambition  is  satisfied  if  they  are  delegated  by  their 
fellow-citizens  in  any  sort  of  representative  capacity.  Therefore 
the  general  level  of  personality  in  the  state  legislature  is  low. 
Men  who  have  important  positions  will  seldom  consent  to  go,  and 
when  influential  persons  do  enter  state  politics  it  is  actually  with 
a  certain  spirit  of  renunciation,  and  not  so  much  to  take  part  in 
the  business  of  the  legislature  as  to  reform  the  legislature  itself. 
Since  this  is  the  case,  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  most  unwhole- 
some elements  flock  thither,  extortioners  and  corrupt  persons  who 
count  on  it,  that  in  regard  to  dishonourable  transactions,  the  other 
side  will  have  the  same  interest  in  preserving  silence  as  themselves. 
We  must  also  not  forget  that  the  American  principle  of  strictly 
local  representation  works  in  another  way  to  keep  down  the  level 
of  the  smaller  legislative  bodies.  If  the  Representative  of  a  cer- 
tain locality  must  have  his  residence  there,  the  number  of  possible 
candidates  is  very  much  restricted.  This  is  even  more  true  of  the 
city  government,  where  the  principle  of  local  representation  re- 
quires that  every  part  of  the  city,  even  the  poorest  and  most 
squalid,  shall  elect  none  but  men  who  reside  in  it.  To  be  sure, 
there  is  a  good  deal  in  this  that  is  right;  but  it  necessarily  brings 
a  sort  of  people  together  in  public  committee  with  whom  it  is  not 


i32  THE  AMERICANS 

exactly  a  pleasure  for  most  men  to  work.  The  questions  which 
have  to  be  talked  over  here  are  still  more  trivial,  and  more  than 
that,  the  motives  which  attract  corrupt  persons  are  somewhat 
more  tangible  here;  since  in  the  rapid  growth  of  the  great  city  the 
awarding  of  monopolies  and  contracts  creates  a  sort  of  spoilsman's 
paradise.  As  the  better  elements  hold  aloof  from  this  city  gov- 
ernment, by  so  much  more  do  corrupt  persons  have  freer  play. 

The  relation  of  the  city  to  both  the  state  and  Federation  is 
even  more  unfavourable  when  one  comes  to  consider  not  the  legis- 
lative, but  the  executive,  department.  Whereas  in  Washington, 
for  example,  a  single  man  stands  at  the  head  of  every  department 
in  the  administration,  and  is  entirely  responsible  for  the  running 
of  things,  there  has  frequently  been  in  the  city  administrations, 
up  to  a  short  time  ago,  a  committee  which  is  so  responsible  — 
this  in  agreement  with  the  old  American  idea  that  a  majority  can 
decide  best.  Where,  however,  a  single  man  was  entrusted  with 
administrative  powers,  he  was  selected  generally  by  the  mayor 
and  the  city  council  together,  and  they  seldom  called  a  real  expert 
to  such  a  position.  In  any  case,  since  the  administration  de- 
pends wholly  on  party  politics,  and  the  upper  staff  changes  with 
each  new  party  victory,  there  is  no  such  chance  for  a  life  career 
here  as  would  tempt  competent  men  to  offer  their  services. 

In  this  part  of  the  government,  moreover,  there  is  more  danger 
from  the  administration  by  committees  than  anywhere  else.  The 
responsibility  of  a  majority  cannot  be  fixed  anywhere;  and  where 
the  mayor  and  aldermen  work  together  in  the  selection  of 
officials,  neither  of  the  two  parties  is  quite  responsible  for  the 
outcome  —  which  is  naturally  not  to  be  compared  with  the  closely 
guarded  election  of  officials  under  German  conditions.  For  in 
Germany  the  selection  of  the  head  of  a  city  department  will  lie 
between  a  few  similarly  trained  specialists,  while  the  adminis- 
tration of  a  New  York  or  a  Chicago  department,  as,  say,  that  of 
the  police  or  of  street-cleaning,  is  thought  to  presuppose  no 
special  preparation,  and  therefore  the  number  of  possible  can- 
didates is  unlimited.  It  is  not  surprising  that  such  irresponsible 
committees  are  not  above  corruption,  and  that  many  a  man  who 
has  received  a  well-paid  administrative  position  in  return  for  his 
services  to  the  party,  proceeds  to  make  his  hay  while  the  sun 
shines.  It  is  true  that  there  are  many  departments  where  no  such 


AND  STATE  i33 

temptation  comes  in  question.  It  is,  for  example,  universally  be- 
lieved that  the  fire  departments  of  all  American  cities  are  ad- 
mirably managed.  The  situation  is  most  doubtful  in  the  case  of 
the  police  departments,  which,  of  course,  are  subject  to  the  great- 
est temptations;  and  here,  too,  there  can  be  the  worst  abuses  in 
some  ways  along  with  the  highest  efficiency  in  others.  The  ser- 
vice for  public  protection  in  a  large  city  may  be  admirably  organ- 
ized and  crime  strenuously  followed  up,  and  nevertheless  the 
police  force  may  be  full  of  corruption.  Thieves  and  murderers 
are  punctiliously  suppressed,  while  at  the  same  time  the  police  are 
extorting  a  handsome  income  from  bar-rooms  which  evade  the 
Sunday  laws,  from  public-houses  which  exist  in  violation  of  city 
statutes,  and  from  unlawful  places  of  amusement. 

To  be  sure,  we  must  again  and  again  emphasize  two  things.  In 
the  first  place,  it  is  probable  that  nine-tenths  of  the  charges  are  ex- 
aggerated and  slanderous.  The  punishments  are  so  consider- 
able, the  means  of  investigation  so  active,  and  the  public  watch- 
fulness so  keen,  both  on  account  of  the  party  hostility  and  by  vir- 
tue of  a  sensational  press,  that  it  would  be  hardly  comprehensible 
psychologically,  if  political  crime  in  the  lowest  strata  of  city  or 
state  were  to  be  really  anything  but  the  exception.  The  many  al- 
most fanatically  conducted  investigations  produce  from  their 
mountains  of  transactions  only  the  smallest  mice,  and  the  state 
attorney  is  seldom  able  to  make  out  a  case  of  actual  bribery.  In 
this  matter  the  Anglo-Americans  are  pleased  to  point  out  that 
wherever  investigations  have  ended  in  making  out  a  case  which 
could  really  be  punished,  the  person  has  been  generally  an  Irish- 
man or  some  other  European  immigrant.  In  any  case,  the  col- 
lection of  immigrants  from  Europe  in  the  large  cities  contributes 
importantly  to  the  unhappy  condition  of  city  politics. 

In  the  second  place,  we  must  urge  once  more  that  the  mere  dis- 
tribution of  well-paid  municipal  positions  to  party  politicians  is 
not  necessarily  in  itself  an  abuse.  When,  for  instance,  in  a  large 
city,  a  Republican  is  succeeded  by  a  Democratic  mayor,  he  can 
generally  bestow  a  dozen  well-paid  and  a  hundred  or  two  more 
modest  commissions  to  men  who  have  helped  in  the  party  victory. 
But  he  will  be  careful  not  to  pick  out  those  who  are  wholly  un- 
worthy, since  that  would  not  only  compromise  himself,  but  would 
damage  his  party  and  prevent  its  being  again  victorious.  If  he 


i34  THE  AMERICANS 

succeeds,  on  the  other  hand,  in  finding  men  who  will  serve  the 
city  industriously,  intelligently,  and  ably  in  proportion  to  their  pay, 
it  is  ridiculous  to  call  the  promise  of  such  offices  by  way  of  party 
reward  in  any  sense  a  plundering  of  the  city,  or  to  make  it  seem 
that  the  giving  of  positions  to  colleagues  of  one's  party  is  another 
sort  of  corruption. 

The  evils  of  public  life  and  the  possibility  of  criminal  practices 
are  not  confined  to  legislative  and  executive  bodies.  The  ju- 
diciary also  has  its  darker  side.  One  must  believe  fanatically  in 
the  people  in  order  not  to  see  what  judicial  monstrosities  occasion- 
ally come  out  of  the  emphasis  which  is  given  to  the  jury  system. 
The  law  requires  that  the  twelve  men  chosen  from  the  people  to 
the  jury  must  come  to  a  unanimous  decision;  they  are  shut  in  a 
room  together  and  discuss  and  discuss  until  all  twelve  finally  de- 
cide for  guilty  or  not  guilty.  If  they  are  not  unanimous,  no  ver- 
dict is  given,  and  the  whole  trial  has  to  begin  over  again.  A  single 
obstinate  juryman,  who  clings  to  his  particular  ideas,  is  able, 
therefore,  to  outweigh  the  decision  of  the  other  eleven.  And  it  is 
to  be  remembered  that  every  criminal  case  is  tried  before  a  jury. 
The  case  is  still  worse  if  all  twelve  agree,  but  agree  only  in  their 
prejudices.  Especially  in  the  South,  but  also  in  the  West  some- 
times, juries  return  decisions  which  simply  insult  the  intelligence 
of  the  country.  It  is  true  that  the  unfairness  is  generally  in  the 
direction  of  declaring  the  defendant  not  guilty. 

The  law's  delay  is  also  exceedingly  regrettable,  as  well  as  the 
extreme  emphasis  on  technicalities,  in  consequence  of  which  no 
one  dares,  even  in  the  interests  of  justice,  to  ignore  the  slightest 
inaccuracy  of  form  —  a  fact  whose  good  side  too,  of  course,  no  one 
should  overlook.  It  is  most  of  all  regrettable  that  the  choice  of 
judges  depends  to  so  large  an  extent  on  politics,  and  that  so  many 
judicial  appointments  are  made  by  popular  elections  and  for  a 
limited  term.  The  trouble  here  is  not  so  much  that  a  faithful  party 
member  is  often  rewarded  with  a  judicial  position,  since  for  the 
matter  of  that  there  are  equally  good  barristers  to  be  chosen  from 
either  party  for  vacant  positions  on  the  bench;  the  real  evil  is  that 
during  his  term  of  office  the  judge  cannot  help  having  an  eye  to  his 
reelection  or  promotion  to  some  higher  position.  This  brings 
politics  into  his  labours  truly,  and  it  too  often  happens  that  a 
ready  compliance  with  party  dictates  springs  up  in  the  lower  ju- 


CITY  AND  STATE  135 

dicial  positions.  Only  the  federal  and  the  superior  state  courts 
are  entirely  free  from  this. 

In  a  similar  way,  politics  sometimes  play  a  part  in  the  doings 
of  the  state  attorney.  He  is  subordinate  to  the  state  or  federal 
executive,  that  is,  to  a  party  element  which  has  contracted  obli- 
gations of  various  sorts,  and  it  may  so  happen  that  the  state 
attorney  will  avoid  interfering  here  and  there  in  matters  where  a 
justice  higher  than  party  demands  interference.  Especially  in 
the  quarrels  between  capital  and  labour,  one  hears  repeatedly  that 
the  state  attorney  is  too  lenient  toward  large  capitalists.  Then 
there  are  other  evils  in  judicial  matters  arising  from  the  unequal 
scientific  preparation  of  jurists;  the  failing  here  is  in  the  judicial 
logic  and  pregnancy  of  the  decision. 

Finally,  one  source  which  is  a  veritable  fountain  of  sin  against 
the  commonwealth  is  the  power  of  the  party  machine.  We  have 
traced  out  minutely  how  the  public  life  of  the  United  States  de- 
mands two  parties,  how  each  of  these  may  hope  for  victory  only  if 
it  is  compactly  organized,  and  how  such  organizations  need  an 
army  of  more  or  less  professional  politicians.  They  may  be  in  the 
legislature  or  out  of  it;  it  is  their  position  in  the  party  machine 
which  gives  them  their  tremendous  powers  —  powers  which  do  not 
derive  from  constitutional  principles  nor  from  law,  but  which  are 
in  a  way  intangible,  and  therefore  the  more  liable  to  abuse. 

Richard  Croker  has  never  been  mayor  of  New  York,  and  yet  he 
was  for  a  long  time  dictator  of  that  city,  no  matter  what  Democratic 
mayor  was  in  office,  and  remained  dictator  even  from  his  country 
place  in  England.  He  ruled  the  municipal  Democratic  party 
machine,  and  therefore  all  the  mayors  and  officials  were  merely 
pawns  in  his  hands.  Millions  of  dollars  floated  his  way  from  a 
thousand  invisible  sources,  all  of  which  were  somehow  connected 
with  municipal  transactions;  and  his  conscience  was  as  elastic  as 
his  pocket-book.  That  is  what  his  enemies  say,  while  his  friends 
allege  him  to  be  a  man  of  honour;  and  nothing  has  really  been 
proved  against  him.  But  at  least  one  thing  is  incontestable,  that 
the  system  of  the  party  machine  and  the  party  boss  makes  such 
undemonstrable  corruption  possible.  Almost  every  state  legisla- 
ture is  in  the  clutches  of  such  party  mandarins,  and  even  men  who 
are  above  the  suspicion  of  venality  misuse  the  tempting  power 
which  is  centred  in  their  hands  in  the  service  of  their  personal 


136  THE  AMERICANS 

advantage  and  reputation,  of  their  sympathies  and  antipathies, 
and  transform  their  Democratic  leadership  into  autocracy  and 
terrorism.  In  the  higher  sense,  however,  every  victory  which  they 
win  for  their  party  is  like  the  victory  of  Pyrrhus,  for  their  selfish 
absolutism  injures  the  party  more  than  any  advantage  which  it 
wins  at  the  polls  benefits  it.  Their  omnipotence  is,  moreover, 
only  apparent,  for  in  reality  there  is  a  power  in  the  land  which 
is  stronger  than  they,  and  stronger  than  Presidents  or  legislatures, 
and  which  takes  care  that  all  the  dangers  and  evils,  sins  and 
abuses  that  spring  up  are  finally  thrown  off  without  really  hinder- 
ing the  steady  course  of  progress.  This  power  is  public  opinion. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 
Public  Opinion 

WE  have  spoken  of  the  President  and  Congress,  of  the  or- 
ganization of  court  and  state,  and,  above  all,  of  the  par- 
ties, in  order  to  show  the  various  forms  in  which  the 
genius  of  the  American  nation  has  expressed  itself.  It  may  seem 
almost  superfluous  to  recognize  public  opinion  as  a  separate 
factor  in  political  affairs.  It  is  admitted  that  public  opinion  is 
potent  in  aesthetic,  literary,  moral,  and  social  problems,  with  all 
of  which  parties  and  constitutions  have  nothing  to  do.  But  it 
might  be  supposed  that  when  a  people  has  surrounded  itself  with 
a  network  of  electoral  machinery,  supports  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  representatives  and  officials,  has  perfected  parties  with 
their  armies  of  politicians  and  legislatures  which  every  year  dis- 
cuss and  pass  on  thousands  of  laws  —  it  might  be  supposed  that 
in  regard  to  political  questions  public  opinion  would  have  found 
its  complete  expression  along  official  channels,  and  in  a  sense 
would  have  exhausted  itself.  Yet  this  is  not  the  case.  The  en- 
tire political  routine,  with  its  paraphernalia,  forms  a  closed  system, 
which  is  distinct  in  many  ways  from  the  actual  public  opinion  of 
the  country. 

It  is  indeed  no  easy  matter  to  find  under  what  conditions  the 
will  of  a  people  can  most  directly  express  itself  in  the  official  ma- 
chinery of  politics.  Many  Germans,  for  instance,  entertain  the 
notion  that  no  government  is  truly  democratic  except  the  cabinet 
be  in  all  matters  dependent  on  a  majority  in  parliament;  and 
they  are  astonished  to  learn  that  in  democratic  America  Congress 
has  no  influence  on  the  election  of  the  highest  officials;  that  the 
President,  in  fact,  may  surround  himself  with  a  cabinet  quite  an- 
tagonistic to  the  political  complexion  of  Congress.  But  no  Ameri- 
can believes  that  politics  would  represent  public  opinion  any  bet- 


138  THE  AMERICANS 

ter  if  this  independence  of  the  Executive  and  his  cabinet  were  to  be 
modified,  say  in  conformity  with  the  English  or  French  idea.  The 
reasons  for  a  discrepancy  between  public  opinion  and  official  poli- 
tics lie  anyhow  not  in  the  special  forms  prescribed  by  the  Consti- 
tution, but  in  the  means  by  which  the  forms  prescribed  by  the  Con- 
stitution are  practically  filled  by  the  nation.  In  the  English  Con- 
stitution, for  instance,  there  is  nothing  about  a  cabinet;  and  yet 
the  cabinet  is  the  actual  centre  of  English  politics.  American 
politics  might  keep  to  the  letter  of  the  Constitution,  and  still  be  the 
truest  reflection  of  public  opinion.  That  they  are  not  such  a  re- 
flection is  due  to  the  strong  position  of  the  parties.  The  rivalry 
of  these  encourages  keen  competition,  in  which  the  success  of  the 
party  has  now  become  an  end  in  itself  quite  aside  from  the  prin- 
ciples involved.  Personal  advantages  to  be  derived  from  the 
party  have  become  prominent  in  the  minds  of  its  supporters;  and 
even  where  the  motives  are  unselfish,  the  tactics  of  the  party  are 
more  important  than  its  ideals.  But  tactics  are  impossible  with- 
out discipline,  and  a  party  which  hopes  to  be  victorious  in  defend- 
ing its  own  interests  or  in  opposing  others'  will  be  no  mere  debating 
club,  but  a  relentlessly  strict  and  practical  organization.  Where- 
with the  control  must  fall  to  a  very  few  party  leaders,  who  owe 
their  positions  to  professional  politicians  —  that  is,  to  men  who  for 
the  most  part  stand  considerably  below  the  level  of  the  best  Ameri- 
cans. 

The  immense  number  of  votes  cast  in  the  Presidential  elections 
is  apt  to  hide  the  facts.  Millions  vote  for  one  candidate  and  mil- 
lions for  the  other,  without  knowing  perhaps  that  a  few  months  be- 
fore the  national  convention  some  ten  or  twelve  party  leaders,  sit- 
ting at  a  quiet  little  luncheon,  may  have  had  the  power  to  fix  on 
the  presidential  candidate.  And  these  wise  foreordainings  are 
even  less  conspicuous  in  the  case  of  governors,  senators,  or  repre- 
sentatives. Everywhere  the  masses  believe  that  they  alone  de- 
cide, and  so  they  do  between  the  nominees  of  one  party  and  of  the 
other,  or  sometimes  between  several  candidates  within  the  party; 
but  they  are  not  aware  that  a  more  important  choice  is  made  be- 
hind the  scenes  before  these  candidates  make  their  appearance. 

As  with  the  incumbents,  so  it  is  with  the  platform.  The  party 
leaders  practically  decide  what  questions  shall  be  made  the  polit- 
ical issues;  and  this  is  the  most  important  function  of  all.  We 


PUBLIC  OPINION  139 

have  seen  that  dissenting  groups  can  hardly  hope  on  ordinary  oc- 
casions to  make  a  break  in  the  firm  party  organization,  and 
though  they  may  vigorously  discuss  questions  which  have  not  been 
approved  by  the  party  leaders,  they  will,  nevertheless,  arrive  at  no 
practical  results.  It  therefore  happens  very  often  that  voters  are 
called  on  to  decide  issues  which  seem  to  them  indifferent,  or  to 
choose  between  two  evils,  and  can  expect  nothing  from  either  can- 
didate in  the  matters  which  they  think  most  vital.  They  go  to  the 
polls  merely  out  of  consideration  for  their  party.  Thus,  in  reality, 
the  people  do  not  decide  the  issues  on  which  they  are  to  vote,  nor  on 
the  candidates  whom  they  elect,  nor  yet  on  the  party  leaders  who  do 
decide  these  things.  Nor  can  the  people,  if  discontented  with  the 
party  in  power,  recall  that  party  during  its  term  of  office.  In  Ger- 
many the  government  can  dissolve  parliament  if  new  issues  arise; 
in  England  the  Cabinet  resigns  if  it  fails  to  carry  a  measure;  but 
in  America  the  party  with  a  congressional  majority  has  nothing  to 
fear  during  its  appointed  term.  In  short,  the  political  life  of 
America  is  dominated  by  those  forces  which  rule  the  parties,  and 
only  in  so  far  as  the  nation  is  filled  with  the  party  spirit,  is  the 
official  political  hierarchy  an  expression  of  the  nation's  will. 

Now  it  is  not  in  the  nature  of  public  opinion  to  nerve  itself  up  to 
clear  and  definite  issues.  Unless  worked  on  by  party  dema- 
gogues, it  never  formulates  itself  in  a  mere  yes  or  no,  but  surveys 
the  situation  impartially,  seeing  advantages  and  disadvantages 
on  both  sides,  and  passes  a  conservative  judgment.  The  man  who 
thinks  only  of  parties  will  often  agree  to  a  compromise  which  is 
unjust  to  both  parties  and  in  general  unworthy  of  them;  but  the 
man  who  takes  his  stand  above  the  parties  knows  that  many  prob- 
lems are  not  fathomed  with  a  yea  or  nay;  he  does  not  see  two  op- 
posite sides  between  which  an  artificial  compromise  is  to  be  found, 
but  he  appreciates  the  given  situation  in  its  organic  unity  and 
historical  perspective.  Historical  understanding  of  the  past  and 
moral  seriousness  for  the  future  guarantee  his  right  judgment. 
He  sees  the  practical  opposition  of  interests,  which  is  always  more 
complex  than  the  two-horned  dilemma  that  the  parties  advertise, 
in  a  true  light,  and  testimony  of  experts  instead  of  politicians 
suggests  to  him  the  rational  solution  of  the  problem.  The  actual 
course  of  action  to  be  followed  may  coincide  with  the  plan  of  one 
or  the  other  party,  or  may  be  a  compromise  between  them,  and  yet 


140  THE  AMERICANS 

it  will  be  a  distinct  policy.  In  such  decisions  there  lives  ever  the 
spirit  of  immediate  reality;  no  artificial  dichotomy  nor  any  polit- 
ical tactics  are  involved,  and  the  natural  moral  feeling  of  a 
healthy  nation  is  then  sufficient  for  every  issue.  Nowhere  is  this 
naive  moral  sense  more  potent  among  the  masses  than  in  America; 
will  then  these  unpartisan  convictions  have  no  weight  in  political 
life  ?  Will  they  not  rather  strive  to  have  an  independent  effect 
on  the  destinies  of  the  nation  ?  The  centre  and  real  expression 
of  these  politics  for  essentials  is  the  system  of  public  opinion. 

We  have  seen  that  every  American  legislature  has  two  parts,  an 
upper  and  a  lower  house,  which  have  different  ways  of  procedure 
and  different  prerogatives.  One  might  similarly  say  that  the 
parties  with  all  their  paraphernalia  are  merely  the  lower  house  of 
the  nation,  while  Public  Opinion  is  the  upper  house;  and  only 
the  two  houses  together  constitute  the  entire  national  political 
life.  The  nation  is  represented  in  each  branch,  but  in  different 
senses.  In  a  way  the  parties  express  quantitatively  the  will  of  the 
nation,  and  public  opinion  does  it  qualitatively.  Whenever  a 
quantitative  expression  is  wanted,  the  issues  must  be  sharply  con- 
trasted in  order  to  separate  clearly  the  adherents  of  each;  all  fine 
shades  and  distinctions  have  to  be  sacrificed  to  an  artificial  clear- 
ness of  definition,  much  as  is  done  in  mechanics,  when  any  motion 
is  schematically  represented,  as  the  diagonal  in  a  parallelogram  of 
two  other  forces.  As  a  quantity  any  yea  or  nay  is  as  good  as  any 
other,  and  the  intensity  of  any  party  movement  is  due  to  the  ac- 
cumulation of  small  increments.  The  great  advantage  of  this 
lower  house  is,  as  of  every  lower  house,  that  its  deliberations  can 
be  brought  to  an  end  and  its  debates  concluded.  Every  political 
election  is  such  a  provisional  result. 

It  is  very  different  in  the  upper  house.  Public  opinion  accepts 
no  abstract  schematizations,  but  considers  the  reality  in  all  its 
complication,  and  in  its  debates  no  weight  is  given  to  any  show  of 
hands  or  other  demonstration  of  mere  numbers.  Crass  contrasts 
do  not  exist  here,  but  only  subtle  shadings;  men  are  not  grouped 
as  friends  and  foe,  but  they  are  seen  to  differ  merely  in  their 
breadth  of  outlook,  their  knowledge,  their  energy,  and  in  their 
singleness  of  heart.  The  end  in  view  is  not  to  rush  politics,  but 
to  reform  politics  and  in  all  matters  to  shape  public  events  to 
national  ideals.  Here  one  vote  is  not  like  another,  but  a  single 


PUBLIC  OPINION  141 

word  wisely  and  conscientiously  spoken  is  heard  above  the  babel 
of  thousands.  And  here  the  best  men  of  the  nation  have  to  show 
themselves,  not  with  programmes  nor  harangues,  but  with  a  quiet 
force  which  shapes  and  unites  public  opinion  and  eventually  car- 
ries all  parties  before  it. 

Public  opinion  may  be  responsible  now  for  a  presidential  veto 
on  a  bill  of  Congress,  now  for  the  sudden  eclipse  of  a  party  leader, 
or  the  dropping  of  a  list  of  candidates,  or  again  it  may  divide  a 
party  in  the  legislature.  Public  opinion  forces  the  parties,  in 
spite  of  themselves,  to  make  mere  party  advantage  secondary  to  a 
maturer  statesmanship. 

Germans  will  not  readily  appreciate  this  double  expression  of 
the  popular  will;  they  would  find  it  more  natural  if  party  life  and 
public  opinion  were  one.  For  in  Germany  the  conditions  are 
quite  different.  In  the  first  place  there  are  a  dozen  parties,  which 
express  the  finer  shades  of  public  opinion  more  adequately  than 
the  two  parties  can  in  America.  And  this  division  into  many 
small  parties  prevents  the  development  of  any  real  party  organ- 
ization such  as  would  be  needed  by  a  party  assuming  entire  re- 
sponsibility for  the  affairs  of  the  nation.  The  nearest  approach 
to  two  great  parties  is  the  opposition  between  all  the  "  biirgerliche" 
parties  on  the  one  hand  and  the  social  democrats  on  the  other. 
But  the  development  of  really  responsible  parties  is  hardly  to  be 
expected,  since  the  German  party  is  allowed  only  a  small  degree 
of  initiative.  The  representatives  of  the  people  have  the  right  to 
accept  or  reject  or  to  suggest  improvements  in  the  proposals  of  the 
government;  but  with  the  government  rest  the  initiative  and  the 
responsibility.  The  government  stands  above  the  parties,  and 
is  not  elected  by  the  people  nor  immediately  dependent  on  them. 
It  originates  most  of  the  legislative  and  executive  movements,  and 
therewith  represents  exactly  that  moral  unity  of  the  nation  which 
is  above  all  parties,  and  which  is  represented  in  America  by  public 
opinion;  while  in  America  the  government  is  the  creature  of  the 
parties. 

One  should  not  draw  the  conclusion  that  the  public  opinion  of 
America  is  the  quintessence  of  pure  goodness.  Public  opinion  in 
the  United  States  would  be  no  true  indication  of  the  forces  at 
work  in  the  nation  if  it  did  not  represent  all  the  essentials  of  the 
typical  American.  In  order  to  find  this  typical  man,  it  would  be 


142  THE  AMERICANS 

misleading  simply  to  take  the  average  of  the  millions;  one  leaves 
out  of  account  the  great  herd  of  colourless  characters,  and  selects 
the  man  who  harmoniously  combines  in  himself,  without  ex- 
aggeration, the  most  striking  peculiarities  of  his  countrymen.  He 
is  not  easy  to  find,  since  eccentricity  is  frequent;  one  man  is  gro- 
tesquely patriotic,  another  moral  to  intolerance,  another  insipidly 
complacent,  and  another  too  optimistic  to  be  earnest  or  too  ac- 
quisitive to  be  just. 

And  yet  if  one  goes  about  much  in  American  society,  one  finds 
oneself  now  and  then,  not  only  in  New  York  or  Boston  or  Wash- 
ington, but  quite  as  well  in  some  small  city  of  the  West,  in  a  little 
circle  of  congenial  men  who  are  talking  eagerly,  perhaps  over  their 
cigars  after  dinner;  and  one  has  the  feeling  that  the  typical  Ameri- 
can is  there.  His  conversation  is  not  learned  nor  his  rhetoric 
high-flown;  but  one  has  the  feeling  that  he  is  alive  and  worth 
listening  to,  that  he  sees  things  in  sharp  perspective,  is  sincerely 
moral,  and  has  something  of  his  own  to  say.  Party  politics  do 
not  interest  him  specially,  although  as  citizen  he  goes  to  a  few 
meetings,  contributes  to  the  party  funds,  and  votes  on  election  day 
if  the  weather  permits.  But  he  speaks  of  politics  generally  with  a 
half-smile,  and  laughs  outright  at  the  thought  of  himself  running  for 
the  legislature.  He  sees  the  evil  about  him,  but  is  confident  that 
everything  will  come  around  all  right;  the  nation  is  young,  strong, 
and  possessed  of  boundless  resources  for  the  future.  Of  course 
he  understands  the  prejudices  of  the  masses,  and  knows  that  mere 
slap  and  dash  will  not  take  the  place  of  real  application  in  solving 
the  problems  which  confront  the  nation;  he  knows,  too,  that 
technical  proficiency,  wealth,  and  luxury  alone  do  not  constitute 
true  culture.  And  herewith  his  best  energies  are  enlisted;  he  con- 
tributes generously  to  libraries  and  universities,  and  very  likely 
devotes  much  of  his  time  to  the  city  schools.  But  he  is  frank  to 
confess,  as  well,  that  he  has  a  weakness  for  good-fellowship  and 
superficiality,  preferring  operetta  to  tragedy  every  time.  He  is 
not  niggardly  in  anything;  to  be  so  is  too  unaesthetic.  At  first 
one  is  astonished  by  his  insouciance  and  the  optimism  with  which 
he  makes  the  best  of  everything.  One  feels  at  once  his  good 
nature  and  readiness  to  help,  and  finds  him  almost  preternaturally 
ready  to  be  just  to  his  opponents  and  overlook  small  failings.  He 
envelops  everything  with  his  irrespressible  sense  of  humour,  and 


PUBLIC  OPINION  143 

is  always  reminded  of  a  good  story,  which  he  recounts  so  drolly 
and  felicitously  that  one  is  ready  to  believe  that  he  never  could  be 
angry.  But  this  all  changes  the  instant  the  talk  turns  from  amus- 
ing stupidities  or  little  weaknesses  and  goes  over  to  indecency  or 
corruption  or  any  baseness  of  character.  Then  the  typical  Ameri- 
can is  quite  changed;  his  genuine  nobility  of  soul  comes  out  and 
he  gives  his  unvarnished  opinion,  not  blusteringly,  but  with  self- 
controlled  indignation.  One  feels  that  here  is  the  real  secret  of 
his  character;  and  one  is  surprised  to  see  how  little  he  cares  for 
political  parties  or  social  classes.  He  will  fiercely  condemn  the 
delinquencies  of  his  own  party  or  the  unfair  dealings  of  his  own 
social  set.  It  now  appears  how  honestly  religious  he  is,  and  how 
far  the  inner  meaning  of  his  life  lies  beyond  the  merely  material. 

Such  a  good  fellow  it  is,  with  all  his  greater  and  lesser  traits, 
who  may  at  any  time  voice  undiluted  public  opinion.  Thousands 
who  are  better,  wiser,  more  learned,  or  less  the  spendthrift  and 
high-liver,  and  the  millions  of  inferior  natures,  will  show  one  trait 
or  another  of  the  national  character  in  higher  relief.  And  yet  the 
type  is  well  marked;  it  is  always  optimistic  and  confident  in  the 
future  of  America,  indifferent  to  party  tactics,  but  enthusiastically 
patriotic.  It  is  anxious  to  be  not  merely  prosperous  but  just  and 
enlightened  as  well;  it  is  almost  hilariously  full  of  life,  and  yet 
benevolent  and  friendly;  conservative  although  sensitive,  with- 
out respect  for  conventions  and  yet  religious,  sanguine  but 
thoughtful,  scrupulously  just  to  an  opponent  but  unrelenting  to- 
ward any  mean  intent.  Probably  the  most  characteristic  traits 
of  public  opinion  are  a  patient  oversight  of  mistakes  and  weak- 
nesses, but  relentless  contempt  and  indignation  for  meanness  and 
lack  of  honour.  This  is  in  both  respects  the  very  reverse  of  the 
party  spirit,  which  is  too  apt  to  hinge  its  most  boasted  reforms  on 
trivial  evils,  and  pass  over  the  greatest  sins  in  silence. 

One  element  of  public  opinion  should  be  suggested  in  even  the 
briefest  sketch  —  its  never  -  failing  humour.  It  is  the  antiseptic 
of  American  politics,  although  it  would  be  better,  to  be  sure,  if 
political  doings  could  be  aseptic  from  the  outset.  But  probably 
dirty  ambition  and  selfishness  are  harder  to  keep  down  in  a  de- 
mocracy than  anywhere  else.  The  humour  of  public  opinion 
stands  in  striking  contrast,  moreover,  to  party  life;  as  one  cannot 
fail  to  discover  on  looking  closely.  Party  tactics  demand  that  the 


144  <THE  AMERICANS 

masses  have  hammered  into  them  the  notion  that  the  sacred 
honour  of  the  nation  lies  with  their  party,  but  that  on  the  other 
side  there  lies  hopeless  ruin.  The  man  who  urges  this  dogma  must 
keep  a  very  solemn  face,  for  if  he  were  to  bring  it  out  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  he  would  destroy  the  force  of  his  sugges- 
tion. The  voter,  too,  is  serious  in  his  duties  as  a  citizen, 
and  demands  of  the  candidates  this  extremely  practical  mien 
and  solemn  party  arrogance.  But  when  the  same  citizen 
talks  the  matter  over  with  his  friends,  he  is  no  longer  a 
stickler  for  party,  but  a  voicer  of  public  opinion,  and  he  sees 
at  once  the  humour  of  the  situation.  He  punctures  the  party 
bubbles  with  well-aimed  ridicule.  So  it  happens  that  the  popu- 
lation is  more  ruled  by  humour  here  than  anywhere  else,  while  the 
party  leaders  stand  up,  at  least  before  the  public,  in  the  most  sol- 
emn guise.  Just  as  in  some  American  states  the  men  drink  wine 
at  home,  but  at  official  banquets  call  for  mineral  water;  so  out 
of  the  political  harness  one  may  commit  excesses  of  humour,  but 
in  it  one  must  be  strictly  temperate.  This  is,  of  course,  the  re- 
verse of  the  well-known  English  method,  where  the  masses  are 
rather  dull,  while  the  leaders  are  famous  wits  and  cynics.  Amer- 
ica would  never  allow  this.  When  one  meets  leading  politicians  or 
members  of  the  Cabinet  in  a  social  way,  one  is  often  amazed  at 
their  ready  wit,  and  feels  that  these  men  have  decidedly  the  capac- 
ity to  shine  as  do  their  English  colleagues.  But  that  would  wreck 
the  party  service.  The  people  are  sovereign;  public  opinion  has, 
therefore,  the  right  to  ironical  humour,  and  can  smilingly  look  down 
on  the  parties  from  a  superior  height;  while  those  who  play  the 
party  game  of  government  have  still  to  keep  demure  and  sober. 
In  England  it  is  the  Cabinet,  in  America  public  opinion,  which 
assumes  the  gentle  role  of  wit.  Hardly  could  the  contrast  be- 
tween aristocracy  and  democracy  be  more  clearly  exemplified. 

If  some  one  should  ask  who  makes  public  opinion,  he  might 
well  be  referred  at  first  to  that  class  which  at  present  does  not  en- 
joy the  suffrage,  and  presumably  will  not  for  some  time  to  come  — 
the  women.  The  American  woman  cares  little  enough  for  party 
politics,  and  this  is  not  so  much  because  she  has  no  rights.  If  she 
had  the  interest  she  probably  would  have  the  rights.  But  while 
the  best  people  have  no  wish  to  see  the  women  mix  in  with  the 
routine  of  party  machinery,  this  is  not  at  all  in  order  that  they 


PUBLIC  OPINION  145 

may  not  concern  themselves  with  the  public  problems  of  the  day. 
On  the  contrary,  women  exert  a  marked  influence  on  public  opin- 
ion; and  here,  as  might  be  expected,  it  is  not  the  organized 
crusades,  like  the  temperance  movement,  which  count,  but  rather 
their  less  noisy  demonstrations,  their  influence  in  the  home  and 
their  general  Tightness  of  feeling.  Every  reform  movement  which 
appeals  to  moral  motives  is  advanced  by  the  public  influence  of 
women,  and  many  a  bad  piece  of  jobbery  is  defeated  by  their  in- 
strumentality. 

If  the  boundaries  between  the  sexes  are  forgotten  in  the  matter 
of  public  opinion,  so  even  more  are  those  between  the  various 
classes.  Public  opinion  is  not  weakened  by  any  class  antipathies. 
To  be  sure,  every  profession  and  occupation  has  its  peculiar  in- 
terests, and  in  different  quarters  the  public  opinion  takes  on  some- 
what different  hues;  the  agricultural  states  have  other  problems 
than  the  industrial;  the  South  others  than  the  North;  and  the  min- 
ing districts  still  others  of  their  own.  But  these  are  really  not  differ- 
ences of  public  opinion,  but  different  sectors  of  the  one  great  circle. 
In  spite  of  the  diverse  elements  and  the  prejudices  which  go  to 
make  up  public  opinion,  it  is  everywhere  remarkably  self-con- 
sistent. This  is  because  it  is  the  voice  of  insight,  conscience,  and 
brotherly  feeling,  as  against  that  of  carelessness,  self-interest,  and 
exclusiveness.  The  particular  interests  of  capital  and  labour,  of 
university  and  primary  school,  of  city  and  country,  have  not  their 
special  representatives  at  the  court  of  public  opinion.  And  least 
in  evidence  of  all,  of  course,  are  the  officials  and  professional  poli- 
ticians. These  men  are  busy  in  strictly  party  affairs,  and  have  no 
time  to  dabble  in  the  clear  stream  of  public  opinion.  At  best,  a 
few  distinguished  senators  or  governors,  together  with  the  Presi- 
dent and  an  occasional  member  of  the  Cabinet,  come  to  have  an 
immediate  influence  on  public  opinion. 

The  springs  of  public  opinion  flow  from  the  educated  and  sub- 
stantial members  of  the  commonwealth,  and  are  often  tinged  at 
first  with  a  very  personal  colouring;  but  the  streamlets  gather  and 
flow  far  from  their  sources  and  every  vestige  of  the  personal  is  lost. 
Ideas  go  from  man  to  man,  and  those  which  are  typically  Ameri- 
can find  as  ready  lodgment  with  the  banker,  the  manufacturer,  or 
the  scholar  as  with  the  artisan  or  the  farm-hand.  Any  man  who 
appeals  to  the  conscience,  morality,  patriotism,  or  brotherly  feel- 


14.6  THE  AMERICANS 

ing  of  the  American,  or  to  his  love  of  progress  and  order,  appeals 
to  no  special  parties  or  classes,  but  to  the  one  public  opinion,  the 
community  of  high-minded  citizens  to  the  extent  of  their  disinter- 
estedness. 

Yet  even  such  a  public  opinion  requires  some  organization  and 
support.  Bold  as  the  statement  may  sound,  the  American  news- 
paper is  the  main  ally  of  public  opinion,  serving  that  opinion  more 
loyally  than  it  serves  either  official  politics  or  the  party  spirit.  The 
literary  significance  of  the  newspaper  we  shall  consider  in  another 
connection,  but  here  only  its  public  influence.  An  American 
philosophizing  on  the  newspapers  takes  it  as  a  matter  of  course 
that  they  serve  the  ends  of  party  politics;  and  it  is  true  enough 
that  party  life  as  it  is  would  not  be  possible  without  the  highly  dis- 
seminated influence  of  the  newspaper.  A  German  coming  to  the 
country  is  apt  to  deny  it  even  this  useful  function.  He  is  acquaint- 
ed in  Europe  with  those  newspapers  which  commence  on  the  first 
page  with  serious  leading  articles,  and  relegate  the  items  of  the 
day  to  a  back  page  along  with  the  advertisements.  But  here  he  finds 
newspapers  which  have  on  the  first  pages  not  a  word  of  editorial 
comment  and  hardly  even  a  serious  piece  of  politics  —  nothing,  in 
fact,  but  an  unspeakable  muddle  of  undigested  news  items;  and  as 
his  eye  rests  involuntarily  on  the  front  page,  with  its  screaming 
headlines  in  huge  type,  he  will  find  nothing  but  crimes,  sensational 
casualties,  and  other  horrors.  He  will  not  before  have  realized 
that  the  devouring  hunger  of  the  American  populace  for  the  daily 
news,  has  brought  into  existence  sheets  of  large  circulation  adapted 
to  the  vulgar  instincts  of  the  millions,  the  giant  headlines  of  which 
warn  off  the  educated  reader  from  as  far  as  he  can  see  them;  that 
paper  is  not  for  him.  But  a  foreigner  does  not  realize  the  in- 
justice of  estimating  the  political  influence  of  the  press  from  a 
glance  at  these  monstrosities,  which  could  not  thrive  abroad,  not 
so  much  because  the  masses  are  better  and  more  enlightened  as 
because  they  care  less  about  reading.  Moreover,  he  will  come 
slowly  to  realize  that  what  he  missed  from  the  front  page  is  some- 
where in  the  middle  of  the  paper;  that  the  street-selling  makes  it 
necessary  to  make  the  most  of  sensations  on  the  outside,  and  to 
put  the  better  things  where  they  are  better  protected.  And  so 
he  learns  that  the  American  newspaper  does  express  opinions, 
although  its  looks  belie  it. 


PUBLIC  OPINION  147 

The  better  sort  of  American  newspaper  is  neither  a  party  pub- 
lication nor  yet  merely  a  news-sheet,  but  the  conscious  exponent  of 
public  opinion.  Its  columns  contain  a  tiresome  amount  of  party 
information,  it  is  true;  but  a  part  of  this  is  directly  in  the  interests 
of  an  intelligent  public  opinion,  since  every  citizen  needs  to  be 
instructed  in  all  the  phases  of  party  life,  of  political  and  congres- 
sional doings,  and  in  regard  to  the  candidates  who  are  up  for  office. 
It  is  to  be  admitted,  moreover,  that  some  of  the  better  newspapers, 
although  not  the  very  best,  are  unreservedly  committed  to  the 
leaders  of  some  party  —  in  short,  are  party  organs.  In  the  same 
way  several  newspapers  are  under  the  domination  of  certain  in- 
dustrial interests  and  cater  to  the  wishes  of  a  group  of  capitalists. 
But  any  such  policy  has  to  be  managed  with  the  utmost  discretion, 
for  the  American  newspaper  reader  is  far  too  experienced  to 
buy  a  sheet  day  after  day  which  he  sees  to  be  falsified;  and 
he  has  enough  others  to  resort  to,  since  the  competition  is  always 
keen,  and  even  middle-sized  cities  have  three  or  four  large  daily 
papers. 

It  is  perhaps  fortunate  that  any  such  extreme  one-sidedness  is 
not  to  the  commercial  advantage  of  the  newspapers,  for  in  America 
they  are  preeminently  business  enterprises.  Their  financial  suc- 
cess depends  in  the  first  place  on  advertisements,  and  only  sec- 
ondarily on  their  sales  in  the  streets.  The  advertising  firm  does 
not  care  whether  the  editorials  and  news  items  are  Republican  or 
Democratic,  but  it  cares  very  much  about  the  number  of  copies 
which  are  circulated;  and  this  depends  on  the  meritorious  features 
which  the  paper  has  over  competing  sheets.  Newspapers  like 
the  German,  which  count  on  only  a  small  circle  of  readers,  and 
these  assured,  at  least  for  the  time  being,  by  subscriptions,  can  far 
more  readily  treat  their  readers  cavalierly  and  constrain  their  at- 
tention for  a  while  to  a  certain  party  point  of  view.  In  an  Ameri- 
can city  the  daily  sales  are  much  greater  than  the  subscriptions, 
and  the  sheets  which  get  the  most  trade  are  those  which  habitually 
treat  matters  from  all  sides,  and  voice  opinions  which  fall  in  with 
every  point  of  view.  Of  course,  this  circumstance  cannot  prevent 
every  paper  from  having  its  special  political  friends  and  foes,  its 
special  hobbies,  its  own  style,  and,  above  all,  its  peculiar  material 
interests.  But,  on  the  whole,  the  American  newspaper  is  extra- 
ordinarily non-partisan  on  public  questions,  notwithstanding  the 


THE  AMERICANS 

statements  in  many  German  books  to  the  contrary;  and  the  or- 
dinary reader  might  peruse  a  given  paper  for  weeks,  except  just 
on  the  eve  of  an  election,  without  really  knowing  whether  it  was 
Republican  or  Democratic.  Now  one  party  and  now  the  other  is 
brought  up  for  criticism,  and  even  when  the  sheet  is  distinctly  in 
favour  of  a  certain  side,  it  will  print  extracts  from  the  leading  ar- 
ticles of  opposing  journals,  and  so  well  depict  the  entire  situation 
that  the  reader  can  form  an  opinion  for  himself. 

While  the  newspapers  are  in  this  way  largely  emancipated  from 
the  yoke  of  parties,  they  are  the  exponents  of  a  general  set  of  ten- 
dencies which,  in  opposition  to  party  politics,  we  have  called  public 
opinion.  In  other  words,  the  papers  stand  above  the  parties  with 
their  crudely  schematic  programmes  and  issues,  and  aspire  to 
measure  men  and  things  according  to  their  true  worth.  Though 
ostensibly  of  one  party,  a  journal  will  treat  men  of  its  own  side  to 
biting  sarcasm,  and  magnanimously  extol  certain  of  its  opponents. 
The  better  political  instincts,  progress  and  reform,  are  appealed  to; 
and  if  doubtful  innovations  are  often  brought  in  and  praised  as  re- 
forms, this  is  not  because  the  newspaper  is  the  organ  of  a  party,  but 
rather  of  public  sentiment,  as  it  really  is  or  is  supposed  to  be.  The 
newspaper  reflects  in  its  own  way  all  the  peculiarities  of  public 
opinion  —  its  light-heartedness  and  its  often  nervous  restlessness, 
its  conservative  and  prudent  traits,  its  optimism,  and  its  ethical 
earnestness;  above  all,  its  humour  and  drastic  ridicule.  It  is  well 
known  that  the  American  newspaper  has  brought  the  art  of  polit- 
ical caricature  to  perfection.  The  satirical  cartoon  of  the  daily 
paper  is  of  course  much  more  effective  than  that  of  the  regular 
comic  papers.  And  these  pictures,  although  directed  at  a  political 
opponent,  are  generally  conceived  in  a  broader  spirit  than  that  of 
any  party.  The  cap  and  bells  are  everywhere  in  evidence,  and 
there  is  nothing  dry  or  pedantic.  From  the  dexterous  and  in- 
cisive leading  article  to  the  briefest  jottings,  one  notes  the  same 
good  humour  and  playful  satire  which  are  so  characteristic  of  pub- 
lic opinion.  This  general  humorous  turn  makes  it  possible  to 
give  an  individual  flavour  to  the  most  ordinary  pieces  of  daily 
news,  so  that  they  have  a  bearing  considerably  broader  than  the 
bare  facts  of  the  case,  and  may  conceivably  add  their  mite  to  pub- 
lic opinion.  And  herewith  a  special  newspaper  style  has  come  in, 
a  combination  of  a  photographically  accurate  report  and  the 


PUBLIC  OPINION  14.9 

whimsical  feuilleton.  Thus  it  happens  that  the  best  papers  edi- 
torially persuade  where  they  cannot  dictate  to  their  readers,  and 
so,  apart  from  party  politics,  nourish  public  opinion  and  create 
sentiment  for  or  against  persons,  and  legislative  and  other  meas- 
ures, while  ostensibly  they  are  merely  giving  the  news  of  the  last 
twelve  hours. 

There  is  another  distinctly  American  invention  —  the  interview. 
Doubtless  it  was  first  designed  to  whet  the  reader's  curiosity  with 
the  piquant  suggestion  of  something  personal  or  even  indiscreet. 
In  Europe,  where  this  form  of  reporting  is  decidedly  rudimentary, 
it  usually  evinces  neither  tact  nor  taste;  whereas  in  America  it  is 
really  a  literary  form,  and  so  familiar  now  as  to  excite  no  remark. 
It  has  come  to  be  peculiarly  the  vehicle  of  public  opinion,  as  op- 
posed to  party  politics.  The  person  interviewed  is  supposed  to 
give  his  personal  opinions,  and  it  is  his  authority  as  a  human  per- 
sonality which  attracts  the  reader.  A  similar  function  is  served 
by  the  carefully  selected  letters  to  the  editor,  which  take  up  a  con- 
siderable space  in  the  most  serious  sheets. 

The  outer  form  of  the  newspaper  is  a  matter  really  of  the  techni- 
cal ability  of  the  American,  rather  than  of  his  political  tastes;  and  it 
is  to  be  observed  at  once  that  the  general  appearance,  and  above  all, 
the  whole  system  of  getting  and  printing  news  rapidly,  is  astonish- 
ing. Every  one  has  heard  of  the  intrepid  and  fertile  reporters,  and 
how  on  important  occasions  they  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  ob- 
tain the  latest  intelligence  for  their  papers.  But  the  persistence 
of  these  men  is  less  worthy  of  note  than  the  regular  system  by 
which  the  daily  news  is  gathered  and  transmitted  to  every  paper 
in  the  land.  With  an  infallible  scent,  a  pack  of  reporters  follows 
in  the  trail  of  the  least  event  which  may  have  significance  for  the 
general  public.  A  good  deal  of  gossip  and  scandal  is  intermingled, 
to  be  sure,  and  much  that  is  trivial  served  up  to  the  readers;  but 
granted  for  once,  that  millions  in  the  lower  classes,  as  members  of 
the  American  democracy,  wish,  and  ought  to  wish,  to  carry  home 
every  night  a  newspaper  as  big  as  a  book,  then,  of  course,  such  a 
hunger  for  fresh  printed  matter  can  be  satisfied  only  by  mental 
pabulum  adapted  to  the  vulgar  mind.  The  New  York  Evening 
Post  will  have  nothing  of  this  sort;  it  appeals  more  to  bank  direct- 
ors and  professors;  but  shop-hands  prefer  the  World.  It  is  the 
same  as  with  the  theatres;  if  the  ordinary  citizen  is  prosperous 


150  THE  AMERICANS 

enough  to  indulge  frequently  in  an  evening  at  the  theatre,  then,  of 
course,  melodrama  and  farce  will  become  the  regular  thing,  since 
the  common  man  must  always  either  laugh  or  cry. 

The  lightning  news  service  is,  of  course,  somewhat  superficial 
and  frequently  in  error,  not  to  say  that  it  is  served  up  often  with 
the  minimum  of  taste;  but  the  readers  gladly  take  the  risk  of  mis- 
takes for  the  sake  of  the  greater  advantage  it  is  to  public  opinion 
to  have  a  searchlight  which  penetrates  every  highway  and  byway, 
showing  up  every  sign  of  change  in  the  social  or  political  situation, 
and  every  intimation  of  danger. 

And  if  reporters  are  accused  of  being  indiscreet,  one  must  first 
inquire  whether  the  fault  does  not  really  lie  with  some  one  or  other 
who,  while  pretending  to  shrink  from  publicity,  really  wants  to  see 
his  name  in  the  paper.  Any  one  familiar  with  the  newspapers  of 
the  country  knows  that  he  is  perfectly  safe  in  telling  any  editor,  and 
even  any  reporter,  whatever  he  likes  if  he  adds  the  caution  that  he 
does  not  wish  it  given  out.  It  will  not  be  printed.  The  American 
journalist  is  usually  a  gentleman,  and  can  be  relied  on  to  be 
discreet.  The  principal  journalists  and  editors  of  the  leading 
newspapers  are  among  the  ablest  men  of  the  country,  and  they 
often  go  over  to  important  political  positions  and  become  even 
ministers  and  ambassadors. 

The  powerful  influence  of  the  American  newspapers  is  outward- 
ly displayed  in  the  sumptuous  buildings  which  they  occupy. 
While  in  Europe  the  newspapers  are  published  generally  in  very 
modest  quarters,  where  the  editors  have  to  sit  in  dingy  rooms,  the 
buildings  of  the  American  newspapers  compare  favourably  with 
the  best  commercial  edifices;  and  the  whole  business  is  conducted 
on  an  elaborate  scale.  Scarcely  less  astonishing  are  their  achieve- 
ments in  the  way  of  illustration.  While  the  most  select  papers  de- 
cline on  principle  to  appeal  to  the  taste  for  sensation,  many  large 
papers  have  yielded  to  the  demand,  and  have  brought  the  technique 
of  illustration  nearly  to  perfection.  A  few  hours  after  any  event 
they  will  have  printed  a  hundred  thousand  copies  of  the  paper 
with  pictures  taken  on  the  spot,  and  reproduced  in  a  manner  of 
which  any  European  weekly  might  well  be  proud. 

Taken  all  in  all,  the  American  press  very  worthily  represents 
the  energy,  prosperity,  and  greatness  of  the  American  nation;  and 
at  the  same  time  with  its  superficial  haste,  its  vulgarity  and  ex- 


PUBLIC  OPINION  151 

citability,  with  its  lively  patriotism  and  irrepressible  humour,  it 
clearly  evinces  the  influence  of  democracy.  The  better  the  paper 
the  more  prominent  are  the  critical  and  reflective  features;  while 
the  wider  the  circulation,  the  more  noticeable  are  the  obtrusive 
self-satisfaction  and  provincialism,  and  the  characteristic  disdain 
of  things  European.  Going  from  the  East  to  the  West,  one  finds  a 
fairly  steady  downward  gradation  in  excellence,  although  some 
samples  of  New  York  journalism  can  vie  for  crude  sensationalism 
with  the  most  disgusting  papers  of  the  Wild  West.  And  yet  the 
best  papers  reach  a  standard  which  in  many  respects  is  higher 
than  that  of  the  best  journals  of  the  Old  World.  A  paper  like  the 
Boston  Transcript  will  hardly  find  its  counterpart  in  the  German 
newspaper  world;  and  much  good  can  be  said  of  the  Sun,  Trib- 
une, Times,  and  Post  in  New  York,  the  Star  in  Washington, 
the  Public  Ledger  in  Philadelphia,  the  Sun  in  Baltimore,  the 
Eagle  in  Brooklyn,  the  Tribune  in  Chicago,  the  Herald  in  Boston, 
the  Evening  Wisconsin  in  Milwaukee,  and  many  others  which 
might  be  named.  Even  small  cities  like  Springfield,  Massachu- 
setts, produce  such  large  and  admirable  papers  as  the  Springfield 
Republican.  And  to  be  just,  one  must  admit  that  the  bad  papers 
could  be  condensed  into  tolerably  good  ones  by  a  liberal  use  of  the 
blue  pencil.  For  their  mistakes  lie  not  so  much  in  their  not  hav- 
ing good  contributions  as  in  their  inclusion  of  crude  and  sensational 
material  by  way  of  spice.  Very  often  the  front  page  of  a  paper 
will  be  overrun  with  the  most  offensive  scandals,  caricatures,  and 
criminal  sensations,  while  the  ninth  and  tenth  pages  will  offer 
editorials  and  other  articles  of  decided  merit.  The  newspapers 
which  care  only  for  a  large  circulation  will  have  something  for 
everybody;  and  they  are  not  far  out  of  the  way  in  calculating  that 
the  educated  reader  who  looks  first  at  the  editorials  and  political 
dispatches,  will  have  enough  that  is  unregenerate  in  his  soul  to 
make  him  relish  a  sideward  glance  at  the  latest  sensational  re- 
ports. The  newspaper  is  content  on  the  whole  not  to  bore  its 
readers,  and  to  hold  a  close  rein  on  public  opinion  rather  than  on 
party  politics. 

With  all  this,  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  there  are  lower  motives 
which  degrade  journalism.  One  o/  the  chief  temptations  lies  in 
the  amalgamation  of  newspaper  politics  and  party  activities.  The 
editor  who,  in  the  interests  of  public  opinion,  scans  all  the  parties 


152  THE  AMERICANS 

with  a  critical  eye  and  professes  to  be  impartial,  is  for  this  very  rea- 
son the  more  tempted  to  misuse  his  position  for  private  gain.  He 
may  diligently  support  one  party  in  the  name  of  impartiality  and 
fairness,  while  in  reality  he  counts  on  a  remunerative  office  if  that 
party  is  successful;  and  from  this  point  the  steps  are  few  to  the 
moral  state  of  those  who  attack  a  certain  party  or  an  industrial 
enterprise  in  order  to  discover  the  error  of  their  position  on  re- 
ceipt of  a  sufficient  compensation.  The  energy  with  which  some 
newspapers  stand  up  for  certain  financial  interests  casts  grave 
doubt  on  their  personal  independence;  and  yet  direct  bribery  plays 
an  exceedingly  small  role,  and  the  government  or  a  foreign  country 
is  never  the  corrupting  influence.  Very  much  more  important  are 
the  vanity  and  selfishness  of  newspaper  proprietors,  who  for  one 
reason  or  another  choose  to  lead  the  public  astray.  But  such  per- 
versities are  less  dangerous  than  one  might  think,  for  the  American 
newspaper  reader  reads  too  much  and  is  politically  too  discerning 
to  take  these  newspapers  at  their  face  value.  The  mood  induced 
by  one  paper  is  corrected  by  another;  and  while  the  journalist  is 
tickled  at  his  own  shrewdness  in  writing  only  what  his  readers  will 
like,  the  reader  slyly  preserves  his  self-respect  and  belief  in  his  own 
critical  ability,  by  hunting  out  everything  with  which  he  does  not 
agree  and  reading  that  carefully.  If  the  journal  is  above  the 
party,  the  reader  is  above  the  journal,  and  thus  it  is  that  the  news- 
papers are  the  most  influential  support  of  public  opinion. 

In  this,  however,  they  do  not  enjoy  a  monopoly;  beside  them 
are  the  weekly  and  monthly  papers.  Here  again  we  shall  con- 
sider their  literary  merits  in  another  connection,  but  their  greatest 
significance  lies  in  their  influence  on  public  opinion.  The  political 
efforts  of  the  weekly  papers  are  mostly  indirect;  they  deal  pri- 
marily with  practical  interests,  religious  and  social  problems,  and 
literary  matters;  but  the  serious  discussions  are  carried  on  as  it 
were  against  a  political  background  which  lends  its  peculiar  hue 
to  the  whole  action.  The  monthly  magazines  are  somewhat  more 
ambitious,  and  consider  politics  more  directly.  In  their  pages, 
not  merely  professional  politicians,  but  the  very  ablest  men  of  the 
nation,  are  accustomed  to  treat  of  the  needs  and  duties  of  city  and 
state;  and  these  discussions  are  almost  never  from  a  one-sided 
point  of  view.  A  magazine  like  the  North  American  Review 
usually  asks  representatives  of  both  parties  to  present  their  opin- 


PUBLIC  OPINION  153 

ions  on  the  same  question;  and  a  similar  breadth  of  view  is  adopt- 
ed by  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  the  Review  of  Reviews,  and  other 
leading  monthlies,  whose  great  circulation  and  influence  are  hardly 
to  be  compared  with  similar  magazines  of  Europe.  The  point  of 
view  common  to  all  is  that  of  a  very  critical  public  opinion,  well 
above  party  politics  and  devoted  to  national  reform  and  every- 
thing which  makes  for  progress  and  enlightenment.  Much  the 
same  can  be  said  of  those  magazines  which  combine  politics 
with  literature  and  illustrations,  such  as  the  Century,  Harper's, 
Scrtbner's,  McClure 's,  and  many  others.  When  McClure's  Maga- 
zine, for  example,  presents  to  its  half-million  readers  month  after 
month  an  illustrated  history  of  the  Standard  Oil  Trust,  every  page 
of  which  is  an  attack  on  secret  evasions  of  the  law,  it  is  not  serving 
the  interests  of  any  party,  but  is  reading  public  opinion  a  lesson. 

The  spoken  word  vies  with  the  printed.  The  capacity  of 
Americans,  and  especially  of  the  women,  to  listen  to  lectures  is 
well-nigh  abnormal.  And  in  this  way  social  and  political  propa- 
gandas find  a  ready  hearing,  although  a  purely  party  speech 
would  not  be  effective  outside  of  a  party  convention.  The  wit 
and  pathos  of  the  speaker  generally  reach  a  level  considerably 
above  mere  matters  of  expediency,  and  appeal  to  public  opinion 
from  a  broadly  historical  point  of  view.  The  dinner  speaker  is 
also  a  power,  since  he  is  not  constrained,  as  in  Germany,  to  sand- 
wich his  eloquence  in  between  the  fish  and  game  or  to  make  every 
speech  wind  craftily  around  and  debouch  with  the  inevitable 
"  dreimal  Hoch."  He  is  quite  at  liberty  to  follow  either  his  whims 
or  his  convictions,  and  herein  has  come  to  be  a  recognized  spring 
of  public  opinion. 

Finally,  somewhat  the  same  influence  is  exerted  by  the  countless 
clubs  and  associations,  and  the  various  local  and  national  societies 
which  are  organized  for  specific  ends.  Every  American  of  the 
better  sort  belongs  to  any  number  of  such  bodies,  and  although 
concerning  two-thirds  of  them  he  knows  no  more  than  that  he  pays 
his  dues,  there  is  left  a  third  for  which  he  sincerely  labours.  There 
is  much  in  these  organizations  which  is  one-sided,  egotistical,  and 
trivial,  and  yet  in  the  most  of  them  there  is  something  which  is 
sound  and  right.  There  is  not  one  at  least  which  fails  to  strength- 
en the  conviction  that  every  citizen  is  called  to  be  the  bearer  of 
public  opinion.  Just  as  the  parties  complain  that  the  voters  neg- 


154-  THE  AMERICANS 

lect  the  routine  duties  of  the  organization,  so  to  be  sure  do  the 
strenuous  reformers  of  the  country  complain  that  the  ranks  be- 
hind them  informally  break  step.  But  the  main  thing  is  that 
behind  them  there  is  a  host,  and  that  public  opinion  is  to-day  as 
thoroughly  organized  as  the  official  parties,  and  that  it  sees  each 
day  more  clearly  that  its  qualitative  effect  on  the  national  life  is 
at  least  equally  important  with  the  quantitative  efficacy  of  the 
parties. 

Every  important  question  is  treated  by  both  organizations,  pub- 
lic opinion,  and  the  parties.  At  the  approach  of  a  great  election 
the  parties  create  such  a  stir  and  bustle  that  for  a  couple  of  months 
the  voice  of  public  opinion  seems  hushed.  Party  tactics  rule  the 
day.  But  on  the  other  hand,  public  opinion  has  its  own  festivals, 
and  above  all,  works  on  tirelessly  and  uninterruptedly,  except  for 
the  short  pause  just  before  elections.  Public  opinion  reacts 
equally  on  both  parties,  forces  them  to  pass  laws  that  the  poli- 
ticians do  not  relish,  and  to  repeal  others  that  the  politicians  would 
gladly  keep;  and,  ignoring  these  men,  it  brings  the  public  con- 
science to  bear  on  the  issues  to  be  pressed,  the  candidates  to  be 
nominated,  and  the  leaders  to  be  chosen. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

Problems  of  Population 

WE  have  surveyed  public  opinion  and  party  politics  as  two 
distinct  factors  in  the  American  national  consciousness, 
as  two  factors  which  are  seldom  in  complete  agreement, 
and  which  are  very  often  in  sharp  opposition,  but  which  finally 
have  to  work  together  like  an  upper  and  lower  legislative  chamber 
in  order  to  solve  the  problems  of  the  day.  We  have  not  the  space 
to  speak  minutely  of  all  these  problems  themselves  with  which  the 
American  is  at  the  present  moment  occupied;  since  the  politics  of 
the  day  lie  outside  of  our  purpose.  This  purpose  has  been  to 
study  that  which  is  perennial  in  the  American  spirit,  the  mental 
forces  which  are  at  work,  and  the  forms  in  which  these  work  them- 
selves out.  But  the  single  questions  on  which  these  forces  oper- 
ate, questions  which  are  to-day  and  to-morrow  are  not,  must  be 
left  to  the  daily  literature.  It  is  our  task,  however,  to  indicate 
briefly  in  what  directions  the  most  important  of  these  problems 
lie.  Every  one  of  them  would  require  the  broadest  sort  of  handling 
if  it  were  to  be  in  the  least  adequately  presented. 

So  many  problems  which  in  European  countries  occupy  the 
foreground,  and  which  weigh  particularly  on  the  German  mind, 
are  quite  foreign  to  the  American.  Firstly,  the  church  problem  as 
a  political  one  is  unknown  to  him.  The  separation  of  church  and 
state  is  so  complete,  and  the  results  of  this  separation  are  viewed 
on  all  sides  with  so  much  satisfaction,  that  there  is  nowhere  the 
least  desire  to  introduce  a  change.  It  is  precisely  in  strictly  re- 
ligious circles  that  the  entire  independence  of  the  church  is  regard- 
ed as  the  prime  requisite  for  the  growth  of  ecclesiastical  influence. 
Even  the  relations  between  the  church  and  party  politics  are  dis- 
tinctly remote,  and  the  semi-political  movements  once  directed 
against  the  Catholic  Church  are  already  being  somewhat  forgotten. 


156  THE  AMERICANS 

There  is  no  Jesuit  question,  and  the  single  religious  order  which 
has  precipitated  a  real  political  storm  has  been  the  sect  of  Mor- 
mons, which  ecclesiastically  sanctions  an  institution  that  the 
monogamous  laws  of  the  nation  forbid.  Even  here  the  trouble  has 
been  dispelled  by  the  submission  of  the  Mormon  Church. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  America  has  also  never  known  a  real  con- 
flict between  the  executive  and  the  people.  The  government 
being  always  elected  at  short  intervals  by  the  people  and  the  head 
of  the  state  with  his  Cabinet  having  no  part  in  legislation,  while 
his  executive  doings  merely  carry  out  the  wishes  of  the  dominant 
political  party,  of  course  no  conflicts  can  arise.  To  be  sure,  there 
can  be  here  and  there  small  points  of  friction  between  the  legis- 
lative and  executive,  and  the  President  can,  during  his  four  years 
of  office,  slowly  drift  away  from  the  party  which  elected  him,  and 
thus  bring  about  some  estrangement;  but  even  this  would  only  be 
an  estrangement  from  the  professional  politicians  of  his  party. 
For  experience  has  shown  that  the  President,  and  on  a  smaller 
scale  the  governor  of  a  state,  is  successful  in  breaking  with  his 
party  only  when  he  follows  the  wishes  of  public  opinion  instead  of 
listening  to  the  dictates  of  his  party  politicians.  But  in  that  case 
the  people  are  on  his  side.  One  might  rather  say  that  the  con- 
flicts between  government  and  people,  which  in  Europe  are 
practically  disputes  between  the  government  and  the  popu- 
lar representatives  of  political  parties,  repeat  themselves  in  Amer- 
ica in  the  sharp  contrast  between  public  opinion  on  the  one  hand 
and  the  united  legislative  and  executive  on  the  other;  since  the 
government  is  itself  of  one  piece  with  the  popular  representa- 
tion. Public  opinion,  indeed,  preserves  its  ancient  sovereignty  as 
against  the  whole  system  of  elections  and  majorities. 

There  is  another  vexation  spared  to  the  American  people;  it 
has  no  Alsace-Lorraine,  no  Danish  or  Polish  districts;  that  is, 
it  has  no  elements  of  population  which  seek  to  break  away  from 
the  national  political  unity,  and  by  their  opposition  to  bring  about 
administrative  difficulties.  To  be  sure,  the  country  faces  difficult 
problems  of  population,  but  there  is  no  group  of  citizens  struggling 
to  secede;  and  in  the  same  way  the  American  has  nothing  in  the 
way  of  emigration  problems.  Perhaps  one  may  also  say  finally 
that  social  democracy,  especially  of  the  international  variety,  has 
taken  such  tenuous  root  that  it  can  hardly  be  called  a  problem, 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  157 

from  the  German  point  of  view.  For  although  there  is  a  labour 
question,  this  is  not  the  same  as  social  democracy.  The  labour 
movements,  as  part  of  the  great  economic  upheaval,  are  certainly 
one  of  the  main  difficulties  to  be  overcome  by  the  New  World;  but 
the  social  democratic  solution,  with  its  chiefly  political  significance, 
is  essentially  unknown  to  the  American.  All  this  we  shall  have  to 
consider  in  other  connections.  Although  this  and  that  which 
worry  the  European  appear  hardly  at  all  in  American  thought,  there 
is,  on  the  other  hand,  a  great  sea  of  problems  which  have  merci- 
fully been  spared  to  the  European.  It  is  due  to  the  transitional 
quality  of  our  time  that  on  this  sea  of  problems  the  most  tempest- 
uous are  those  of  an  economic  character.  The  fierce  conflicts  of 
recent  Presidential  elections  have  been  waged  especially  over  the 
question  of  currency,  and  it  is  not  until  now  that  the  silver  pro- 
gramme may  be  looked  on  as  at  least  provisionally  forgotten. 
These  conflicts  were  immediately  preceded  by  others  which  con- 
cerned protection  and  free-trade,  and  the  outlook  is  clear  that  these 
two  parties  will  again  meet  each  other  in  battle  array. 

Meanwhile  the  formation  of  large  trusts  has  loomed  up  rapidly 
as  a  problem,  and  in  this  one  sees  the  real  influence  of  public  opin- 
ion as  against  that  of  party  politics,  since  both  parties  would  doubt- 
less have  preferred  to  leave  the  trusts  alone.  At  the  same  time 
the  great  strikes,  especially  that  of  the  Pennsylvania  coal  districts, 
have  brought  the  conflicts  between  capital  and  labour  so  clearly  to 
the  national  consciousness  that  the  public  attention  is  strained  on 
this  point.  Others  say  that  the  most  serious  economic  problem 
of  the  United  States  is  the  irrigation  of  the  parched  deserts  of  the 
West,  where  whole  tracts  of  land,  larger  than  Germany,  can- 
not be  cultivated  for  lack  of  water;  while  American  engineers, 
however,  now  think  it  entirely  possible  with  a  sufficient  outlay  of 
money  to  irrigate  this  region  artificially.  Still  others  regard  the 
tax  issue  as  of  prime  importance;  and  the  circle  of  those  who  be- 
lieve in  single-tax  reform  is  steadily  growing.  Every  one  agrees 
also  that  the  status  of  national  banks  needs  to  be  extensively 
modified;  that  the  reckless  devastation  of  forests  must  be  stopped; 
and  that  the  commercial  relations  between  the  states  must  be  regu- 
lated by  new  laws.  Some  are  hoping  for  new  canals,  others  for  the 
subvention  of  American  ships.  In  short,  the  public  mind  is  so 
filled  with  important  economic  questions  that  others  which  are 


158  THE  AMERICANS 

merely  political  stand  in  the  background;  and,  of  course,  polit- 
ical questions  so  tremendous  as  was  once  that  of  independence 
from  England  and  the  establishment  of  the  Federation,  or  later, 
the  slave  question  and  the  secession  of  the  South,  have  not  come 
up  through  four  happy  decades. 

Besides  the  economic  problems  there  are  many  social  problems 
which  appear  in  those  quarters  where  public  opinion  is  best  or- 
ganized, and  spread  from  there  more  and  more  throughout 
political  life;  such  are  the  question  of  woman's  suffrage,  and  the  half 
economic  and  half  social  problem  of  the  extremes  between  poor 
and  rich,  extremes  which  were  unknown  to  the  New  World  in  the 
early  days  of  America  and  even  until  very  recent  times.  The  un- 
speakable misery  in  the  slums  of  New  York  and  Chicago,  in  which 
the  lowest  immigrants  from  Eastern  Europe  have  herded  them- 
selves together  and  form  a  nucleus  for  all  the  worst  reprobates  of 
the  country,  is  ah  outcome  of  recent  years  and  appeals  loudly  to 
the  conscience  of  the  nation.  On  the  other  side,  the  fatuous  ex- 
travagance of  millionaires  threatens  to  poison  the  national  sense 
of  thrift  and  economy. 

Among  these  social  problems  there  belongs  specially  the  earnest 
desire  of  the  best  citizens  to  develop  American  art  and  science  at 
a  pace  comparable  with  the  extraordinary  material  progress  of  the 
country.  Doubtless  the  admirable  results  which  have  here  been 
obtained,  came  from  the  extraordinary  earnestness  with  which 
public  opinion  has  discussed  these  problems.  The  great  develop- 
ment of  universities,  the  increase  in  the  number  of  libraries  and 
scientific  institutions,  the  creation  of  museums,  the  observance  of 
beauty  in  public  buildings,  and  a  hundred  other  things  would 
never  have  come  about  if  public  opinion  had  let  things  go  their  own 
way;  here  public  opinion  has  consciously  done  its  duty  as  a  gov- 
erning power.  Somewhat  nearer  the  periphery  of  public  thought 
there  are  various  other  social  propagandas,  as  that  for  the  relief  of 
the  poor  and  for  improving  penal  institutions;  the  temperance 
movement  is  flourishing,  and  the  more  so  in  proportion  as  it  gives 
up  its  fanatical  eccentricities.  Also  the  fight  against  what  the 
American  newspaper  reader  calls  the  "social  evil,"  attracts  more 
and  more  serious  attention. 

Besides  all  these,  there  is  a  considerable  number  of  purely  polit- 
ical problems;  first  among  these  are  the  problems  of  population, 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  159 

and  notably  the  questions  of  immigration  and  of  the  negro;  then 
come  internal  problems  of  government,  such  as  civil  service  and 
municipal  reforms,  which  especially  engage  the  public  eye;  finally, 
the  problems  of  external  politics,  in  which  the  watchwords  of  im- 
perialism and  the  Monroe  Doctrine  can  be  heard  shouted  out  above 
all  others.  At  least  we  must  briefly  take  our  bearings,  and  see  why 
these  problems  exist,  although  the  treatment  cannot  be  exhaustive. 

The  first  issue  in  the  problem  of  population  is,  as  we  have  said, 
that  which  concerns  immigration;  and  this  is  just  now  rather  up 
before  public  opinion  since  the  last  fiscal  year  which  was  closed 
with  the  beginning  of  July,  1903,  showed  the  largest  immigration 
ever  reached,  it  being  one-tenth  greater  than  the  previous  record, 
which  was  for  the  year  ending  in  1882.  The  facts  are  as  follows: 
The  total  immigration  to  the  United  States  has  been  twenty  million 
persons.  The  number  of  those  who  now  live  in  the  United  States, 
but  were  born  in  foreign  countries,  is  more  than  ten  millions;  and 
if  we  were  to  add  to  these  those  who,  although  born  here,  are  of 
foreign  parentage,  the  number  comes  up  to  twenty-six  millions. 
Last  year  857,000  immigrants  came  into  the  country.  Out  of  the 
ten  millions  of  the  foreign-born  population,  2,669,000  have  come 
from  Germany,  and  1,619,000  from  Ireland. 

The  fluctuations  in  immigration  seem  to  depend  chiefly  on  the 
amount  of  prosperity  in  the  United  States,  and,  secondly,  on  the 
economic  and  political  conditions  which  prevail  from  year  to  year 
in  Europe.  Up  to  1810  the  annual  immigration  is  estimated  to 
have  been  about  6,000;  then  it  was  almost  wholly  interrupted  for 
several  years,  owing  to  the  political  tension  between  the  United 
States  and  England;  as  soon  as  peace  was  assured  the  immigration 
increased  in  1817  to  20,000;  and  in  the  year  1840  to  84,000.  The 
hundred  thousand  mark  was  passed  in  1842,  and  from  then  on  the 
figure  rose  steadily,  until  in  1854  it  amounted  to  427,000.  Then 
the  number  fell  off  rapidly.  It  was  a  time  of  business  depression 
in  the  United  States,  and,  moreover,  the  slavery  agitation  was  al- 
ready threatening  a  civil  war.  The  immigration  was  least  in  1861, 
when  it  had  sunk  to  91,000.  Two  years  later  it  began  to  rise 
again,  and  in  1873  was  almost  half  a  million.  And  again  there 
followed  a  few  years  of  business  depression,  with  its  correspond- 
ingly lessened  immigration.  But  the  moment  economic  condi- 
tions improved,  immigration  set  in  faster  than  ever  before,  and  in 


i6o  THE  AMERICANS 

1882  was  more  than  three-quarters  of  a  million.  Since  1883  the 
average  number  of  persons  coming  in  has  been  450,000,  the  varia- 
tion from  year  to  year  being  considerable.  The  business  reverses 
of  1893  cut  the  number  down  to  one-half,  but  since  1897  it  has 
steadily  risen  again. 

Such  bare  figures  do  not  show  that  which  is  most  essential  from 
the  point  of  view  of  public  opinion,  since  the  quality  of  the  immi- 
gration, depending  as  it  does  on  the  social  condition  of  the  coun- 
tries from  which  it  comes,  is  the  main  circumstance.  In  the 
decade  between  1860  and  1870,  2,064,000  European  wanderers 
came  to  the  American  shores;  of  these  787,000  were  Germans, 
568,000  English,  435,000  Irish,  109,000  Scandinavians,  38,000 
Scotch,  and  35,000  French.  Now  for  the  decade  between  1890 
and  1900  the  total  number  was  3,844,000;  of  these  Germany  con- 
tributed 543,000,  Ireland  403,000,  Norway  and  Sweden  325,000, 
England  282,000,  Scotland  60,000,  and  France  36,000.  On  the 
other  hand,  we  find  for  the  first  time  three  countries  represented 
which  had  never  before  sent  any  large  number  of  immigrants; 
Italy,  Russia,  and  Austria-Hungary.  In  the  decade  ending  1870 
there  were  only  11,000  Italians,  7,000  Austrians,  and  4,000  Rus- 
sians, while  in  the  decade  ending  in  the  year  1900  the  Russian 
immigrants,  who  are  mostly  Poles  and  Jews,  numbered  588,000, 
the  Austrian  and  Hungarian  597,000,  and  the  Italian  no  less 
than  655,000;  and  the  proportion  of  these  three  kinds  of  immi- 
grants is  steadily  increasing.  In  the  year  1903  Germany  sent 
only  40,000,  Ireland  35,000,  and  England  26,000;  while  Russia 
sent  136,000,  Austria-Hungary  206,000,  and  Italy  230,000.  Here- 
in lies  the  problem. 

A  few  further  figures  may  help  to  make  the  situation  clearer. 
For  instance,  it  is  interesting  to  know  what  proportion  of  the  total 
emigration  from  Europe  came  to  America.  In  round  numbers 
we  may  say  that  since  1870  Europe  has  lost  20,000,000  souls  by 
emigration,  and  that  some  14,000,000  of  these,  that  is,  more  than 
two-thirds,  have  ultimately  made  their  homes  in  the  United  States 
of  America.  Of  the  German  emigrants  some  85  or  90  per  cent, 
have  gone  to  the  United  States;  of  the  Scandinavian  as  many  as 
97  per  cent.;  while  of  the  English  and  Italian  only  66  and  45  per 
cent,  respectively.  It  is  worth  noting,  moreover,  that  in  spite  of 
the  extraordinary  increase  in  immigration,  the  percentage  of 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  161 

foreign-born  population  has  not  increased;  that  is,  the  increase 
of  native-born  inhabitants  has  kept  up  with  the  immigration.  In 
1850  there  were  a  few  more  than  two  million  foreign-born  inhab- 
itants, in  1860  more  than  four  millions,  in  1870  there  were  five  and 
a  half  millions,  in  1880  six  and  a  half  millions,  in  1890  nine  and 
a  quarter  millions,  and  in  1900  ten  and  one-third  millions.  In 
1850  these  foreigners  amounted,  it  is  true,  to  only  n  per  cent,  of 
the  population;  but  in  1860  they  had  already  become  15  per  cent, 
of  the  whole,  and  diminished  in  1870  to  14.4  percent.,  in  1880  to 
13.3  per  cent.;  in  1890  they  were  14.8  per  cent.,  and  in  1900  13.6 
per  cent. 

The  State  of  New  York  has  the  largest  number  of  foreigners, 
and  in  the  last  fifty  years  the  percentage  of  foreigners  has  risen 
steadily  from  21  per  cent,  to  26  per  cent.  Pennsylvania  stands 
second  in  this  respect,  and  Illinois  third.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
small  states  have  the  largest  percentage  of  foreign  population. 
North  Dakota  has  35  per  cent,  and  Rhode  Island  31  per  cent. 
The  Southern  states  have  fewest  foreigners  of  any.  These  figures 
are,  of  course,  greatly  changed  if  we  add  to  them  the  persons  who 
were  not  themselves  born  in  other  countries,  but  of  whom  one  or 
both  parents  were  foreigners.  In  this  way  the  foreign  popula- 
tion in  the  so-called  North  Atlantic  States  is  51  per  cent.,  and  is 
34  per  cent,  throughout  the  country.  If  a  foreigner  is  so  defined, 
the  cities  of  New  York  and  Chicago  are  both  77  per  cent,  foreign. 

These  figures  are  enough  by  way  of  mere  statistics.  The  thing 
which  arouses  anxiety  is  not  the  increasing  number  of  immigrants, 
but  the  quality  of  them,  which  grows  continually  worse.  Just  fifty 
years  ago  the  so-called  Know-Nothings  made  the  anti-foreign 
sentiment  the  chief  plank  of  their  programme,  but  the  "pure" 
American  propaganda  of  the  Know-Nothings  was  forgotten  in  the 
excitement  which  waged  over  slavery;  and  the  anti-foreign  issue 
has  never  since  that  time  been  so  brutally  stated.  There  has  al- 
ways been  much  objection  to  the  undeniable  evils  involved  in  this 
immigration,  and  the  continual  cry  for  closer  supervision  and  re- 
striction of  immigration  has  given  rise  to  several  new  legal  meas- 
ures. Partly,  this  movement  has  been  the  expression  of  industrial 
jealousy,  as  when,  for  instance,  Congress  in  1885,  in  an  access  of 
protectionist  fury,  forbade  the  immigration  of  "contract  labour," 
that  is,  forbade  any  one  to  land  who  had  already  arranged  to  fill 


162  THE  AMERICANS 

a  certain  position.  This  measure  was  meant  to  protect  the  work- 
men from  disagreeable  competition.  But  right  here  the  believers 
in  free  industry  object  energetically.  It  is  just  the  contract  labour 
from  the  Old  World  which  brings  new  industries  and  a  new  de- 
velopment of  old  industries  into  the  country,  and  such  a  quicken- 
ing of  industry  augments  the  demand  for  labour  to  the  decided 
advantage  of  native  workmen.  The  law  still  stands  in  writing, 
but  in  practice  it  appears  to  be  extensively  corrected,  since  it  is 
very  easily  evaded. 

The  more  important  measures,  however,  have  arisen  less  from 
industrial  than  from  social  and  moral  grounds.  Statistics  have 
been  carefully  worked  up  again  and  again  in  order  to  show 
that  the  poor-houses  and  prisons  contain  a  much  larger  percent- 
age of  foreigners  than  their  proportionate  numbers  in  the  com- 
munity warrant.  In  itself  this  will  be  very  easy  to  understand, 
owing  to  the  unfavourable  conditions  under  which  the  foreigner 
must  find  himself,  particularly  if  he  does  not  speak  English,  in  his 
struggle  for  existence  in  a  new  land.  But  most  striking  has  been 
the  manner  in  which  the  magic  of  statistics  has  shown  its  ability 
to  prove  anything  it  will;  for  other  statistics  have  shown  that  if  cer- 
tain kinds  of  crime  are  considered,  the  foreign-born  Americans 
are  the  best  children  the  nation  has.  The  question  of  illiter- 
acy has  been  discussed  in  similar  fashion.  The  percentage  of 
immigrants  who  can  neither  read  nor  write  has  seemed  alarm- 
ingly high  to  those  accustomed  to  the  high  cultivation  of  the  north- 
eastern states,  but  gratifyingly  small  to  those  familiar  with  the 
negro  population  in  the  South.  One  unanimous  opinion  has  been 
reached;  it  is  that  the  country  is  bound  to  keep  out  such  elements 
from  its  borders  as  are  going  to  be  a  public  burden.  At  first  idiots 
and  insane  persons,  criminals,  and  paupers  made  up  this  undesir- 
able class,  but  the  definition  of  those  who  are  not  admitted  to  the 
country  has  been  slowly  broadened.  And  since  the  immigration 
laws  require  the  steamship  companies  to  carry  back  at  their  own 
expense  all  immigrants  who  are  not  allowed  to  land,  the  selection 
is  actually  made  in  the  European  ports  of  embarkation.  In  this 
wise  the  old  charge  that  the  agents  of  European  packet  companies 
encouraged  the  lowest  and  worst  individuals  of  the  Old  World  to 
expend  their  last  farthing  for  a  ticket  to  the  New  World,  has 
gradually  died  out.  Nevertheless,  in  the  last  year,  5,812  persons 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  163 

were  sent  back  for  lack  of  visible  means  of  support,  51  because 
of  criminal  record,  and  1773  by  reason  of  infectious  diseases. 

The  fact  remains,  however,  that  the  social  mires  of  every  large 
city  teem  with  foreigners,  and  that  among  these  masses  the 
worst  evils  of  municipal  corruption  find  favourable  soil,  that  all 
the  sporadic  outbreaks  of  anarchy  are  traceable  to  these  foreign- 
ers, and  that  the  army  of  the  unemployed  is  mostly  recruited  from 
their  number.  These  opinions  were  greatly  strengthened  when 
that  change  in  the  racial  make-up  set  in  which  we  have  followed  by 
statistics,  and  which  a  census  of  the  poorer  districts  in  the  large 
cities  quickly  proves:  Italians,  Russian  Jews,  Galicians,  and 
Roumanians  everywhere.  The  unprejudiced  American  asks  with 
some  concern  whether,  if  this  stream  of  immigration  is  con- 
tinued, it  will  not  undermine  the  virility  of  the  American  people. 
The  American  nation  will  continue  to  fulfil  its  mission  so  long  as 
it  is  inspired  with  a  spirit  of  independence  and  self-determination; 
and  this  instinct  derives  from  the  desire  of  freedom  possessed  by 
all  the  Germanic  races.  In  this  way  the  German,  Swedish,  and 
Norwegian  newcomers  have  adapted  themselves  at  once  to  the 
Anglo-Saxon  body  politic,  while  the  French  have  remained  in- 
trinsically strangers.  Their  number,  however,  has  been  very 
small.  But  what  is  to  happen  if  the  non-Germanic  millions  of 
Italians,  Russians,  and  Turks  are  to  pour  in  unhindered  ?  It  is 
feared  that  they  will  drag  down  the  high  and  independent  spirit 
of  the  nation  to  their  low  and  unworthy  ideals.  Already  many 
citizens  wish  to  require  of  the  immigrants  a  knowledge  of  the 
English  language,  or  to  make  a  certain  property  qualification  by 
way  of  precaution  against  unhappy  consequences,  or  perhaps  to 
close  entirely  for  awhile  the  portals  of  the  nation,  or,  at  least,  to 
make  the  conditions  of  naturalization  considerably  harder  in 
order  that  the  Eastern  European,  who  has  never  had  a  thought 
of  political  freedom,  shall  not  too  quickly  receive  a  suffrage  in  the 
freest  democracy  of  the  world.  And  those  most  entitled  to  an 
opinion  unconditionally  demand  at  the  least  the  exclusion  of  all 
illiterates. 

Against  all  this  there  stand  the  convictions  of  certain  rather 
broader  circles  of  people  who  point  with  pride  at  that  great  Ameri- 
can grist-mill,  the  public  school,  which  is  supposed  to  take  the 
foreign  youth  into  its  hopper,  grind  him  up  quickly  and  surely,  and 


164  THE  AMERICANS 

turn  him  out  into  good  American  material.     It  is,  in  fact,  aston- 
ishing to  look  at  the  classes  in  the  New  York  schools  down  on  the 

O 

East  Side,  where  there  is  not  a  child  of  American  parentage,  and 
yet  not  one  who  will  admit  that  he  is  Italian,  Russian,  or  Armen- 
ian. All  these  small  people  declare  themselves  passionately  to  be 
"American,"  with  American  patriotism  and  American  pride;  and 
day  by  day  shows  that  in  its  whole  system  of  public  institutions 
the  nation  possesses  a  similar  school  for  the  foreign-born  adult. 
Grey-haired  men  and  adolescent  youths,  who  in  their  native  coun- 
tries would  never  have  emerged  from  their  dull  and  cringing  ex- 
istence, hardly  touch  the  pavement  of  Broadway  before  they  find 
themselves  readers  of  the  newspaper,  frequenters  of  the  political 
meetings,  and  in  a  small  way  independent  business  men;  and  they 
may,  a  few  years  later,  be  conducting  enterprises  on  a  large  scale. 
They  wake  up  suddenly,  and  although  in  this  transformation 
every  race  lends  its  own  colour  to  the  spirit  of  self-determination, 
nevertheless  the  universal  trait,  the  typical  American  trait,  can 
appear  in  every  race  of  man,  if  only  the  conditions  are  favourable. 
In  the  same  direction  it  is  urged  once  more  that  America  needs 
the  labour  of  these  people.  If  Southern  and  Eastern  Europe  had 
not  given  us  their  cheaper  grades  of  workmen,  we  should  not  have 
been  able  to  build  our  roads  or  our  railroads,  nor  many  other 
things  which  we  have  needed.  In  former  decades  this  humble 
role  fell  to  the  Germans,  the  Scandinavians,  and  the  Irish,  and  the 
opposition  against  their  admission  was  as  lively  as  it  now  is  against 
the  immigrants  from  the  south  and  east  of  Europe;  while  the  de- 
velopment of  the  country  has  shown  that  they  have  been  an  eco- 
nomic blessing;  and  the  same  thing,  it  is  said,  will  be  true  of  the 
Russians  and  Poles.  There  are  still  huge  territories  at  our  dis- 
posal which  are  virtually  unpopulated,  untold  millions  can  still 
employ  their  strength  to  the  profit  of  the  whole  nation,  and  it 
would  be  madness  to  keep  out  the  willing  and  peaceable  workers. 
Moreover,  has  it  not  been  the  proud  boast  of  America  that  her 
holy  mission  was  to  be  a  land  of  freedom  for  every  oppressed  in- 
dividual, an  asylum  for  every  one  who  was  persecuted  ?  In  the 
times  then  of  her  most  brilliant  prosperity  is  she  to  be  untrue  to 
her  noble  role  of  protectress,  and  leave  no  hope  to  those  who  have 
been  deprived  of  their  human  rights  by  Russian  or  Turkish 
despots,  by  Italian  or  Hungarian  extortionists,  to  disappoint  their 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  165 

belief  that  at  least  in  the  New  World  even  the  most  humble  man 
has  his  rights  and  will  be  received  at  his  true  value  ?  Thus  the 
opinions  differ,  and  public  opinion  at  large  has  come  as  yet  to  no 
decision. 

A  curious  feature  in  the  immigration  problem  is  the  Chinese 
question,  which  has  occasioned  frequent  discussion  on  the  Pacific 
coast.  The  Chinaman  does  not  come  here  to  enjoy  the  blessings 
of  American  civilization,  but  merely  in  order  to  earn  a  competence 
in  a  short  time  so  that  he  can  return  to  his  Asiatic  home  and  be 
forever  provided  for.  He  does  not  bring  his  family  with  him,  nor 
attempt  in  any  way  to  adapt  himself;  he  keeps  his  own  costume, 
stays  apart  from  his  white  neighbours,  and  lives,  as  for  instance 
in  the  Chinese  Quarter  of  San  Francisco,  on  such  meagre  nourish- 
ment and  in  such  squalid  dwellings  that  he  can  save  up  wealth 
from  such  earnings  as  an  American  workman  could  hardly  live  on. 
A  tour  through  the  Chinese  sleeping-rooms  in  California  is  in  fact 
one  of  the  most  depressing  impressions  which  the  traveller  on 
American  soil  can  possibly  experience.  The  individuals  lie  on 
large  couches,  built  over  one  another  in  tiers,  going  quite  up  to  the 
ceiling;  and  in  twenty-four  hours  three  sets  of  sleepers  will  have 
occupied  the  beds.  Under  such  conditions  the  number  of  new- 
comers steadily  increased  because  large  commercial  firms  im- 
ported more  and  more  coolie  labour.  Between  1870  and  1880 
more  than  122,000  had  come  into  the  country.  Then  Congress 
began  to  oppose  this  immigration,  and  since  1879  nas  experiment- 
ed with  various  laws,  until  now  the  Chinese  workman  is  almost 
wholly  excluded.  According  to  the  last  census  there  were  only 
81,000  Chinese  in  the  whole  United  States. 

More  attractive  than  the  yellow  immigrants  to  these  shores  are 
the  red-skinned  aborigines  of  the  land,  the  Indians,  whom  the 
Europeans  found  when  they  landed.  The  world  is  too  much  in- 
clined, however,  to  consider  the  fate  of  the  Indian  in  a  false  light, 
just  because  his  manner  of  life  captures  the  fancy  and  his  pic- 
turesque barbarity  has  often  attracted  the  poet.  The  American 
himself  is  rather  inclined  to  see  in  his  treatment  of  the  Indian  a 
grave  charge  against  his  own  nation,  and  to  find  himself  guilty  of 
the  brutal  extermination  of  a  native  race.  To  arrive  at  such  an 
opinion  he  assumes  that  in  former  centuries  great  tribes  of  Indians 
scoured  the  tremendous  hunting-grounds  of  the  land.  But  science 


166  THE  AMERICANS 

has  done  away  with  this  fanciful  picture,  and  we  know  to-day  that 
these  millions  of  natives  never  existed.  There  are  to-day  about 
270,000  Redskins,  and  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  the  number  was 
ever  much  greater.  It  is  true,  of  course,  that  between  Central 
America  and  the  Arctic  Sea,  hundreds  of  different  Indian  lan- 
guages were  spoken,  and  many  of  these  languages  have  twenty  or 
thirty  different  dialects.  But  the  sole  community  in  which  such 
a  dialect  developed  would  include  only  a  few  hundred  persons,  and 
broad  tracts  of  land  would  lie  between  the  neighbouring  communi- 
ties. They  used  to  live  in  villages,  and  wandered  over  the  country 
only  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year  in  order  to  hunt,  fish,  and  collect 
fruits. 

As  soon  as  the  European  colonies  established  themselves  in  the 
country  the  Indians  used  to  take  part  in  their  wars,  and  on  such 
occasions  were  supplied  by  the  colonists  with  arms  and  employed 
as  auxiliary  forces.  But  the  delights  of  these  new  methods  of  war- 
fare, which  they  learned  quickly,  broke  up  their  own  peaceful  life. 
The  new  weapons  were  employed  for  war  between  the  Indian 
races,  and  eventually  were  turned  by  the  Indians  against  the 
white  settlers  themselves.  But,  after  all,  the  peaceful  contact  of 
Indians  and  whites  was  more  productive  of  results.  Only  the 
French  and  Spanish  permitted  a  mixture  of  the  races,  and  in 
Canada  especially  to-day  there  is  a  mixed  race  of  French  and 
Indians;  while  in  Mexico  a  large  part  of  the  inhabitants  is  Span- 
ish and  Indian.  The  truly  American  population  sought  above  all 
else  peaceably  to  disseminate  its  own  culture;  some  Indian  races 
became  agricultural  and  devoted  themselves  to  certain  industrial 
pursuits. 

Since  the  time  when  the  United  States  gained  actual  possession 
of  a  larger  part  of  the  continent,  a  systematic  Indian  policy  has 
been  pursued,  although  administered  largely,  it  must  be  admitted, 
in  the  American  interests,  and  yet  with  considerable  consideration 
of  the  natural  inclinations  of  these  hunting  peoples.  In  various 
states,  territories  were  set  apart  for  them,  which  were  certainly 
more  than  adequate  to  afford  their  sustenance;  schools  were  built, 
and  even  institutions  of  higher  learning;  and  through  solemn 
treaties  with  their  chiefs  important  rights  were  assigned  to  differ- 
ent races.  To  be  sure,  the  main  idea  has  always  been  to  persuade 
the  Indians  to  take  up  agricultural  pursuits;  to  live  merely  by 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  167 

hunting  flesh  and  eating  wild  fruits  seemed  hardly  the  thing  at  a 
time  when  millions  of  people  were  flocking  westward  out  of 
Europe.  Therefore,  with  every  new  treaty,  the  Indian  reserva- 
tions have  been  made  smaller  and  smaller.  The  Indians,  who 
would  have  preferred  always  to  keep  up  their  wild  hunting  life, 
felt,  and  still  feel,  that  this  has  been  unjust,  and  certainly  many 
of  their  racial  peculiarities  have  made  it  difficult  to  adapt  Ameri- 
can legal  traditions  fairly  to  their  needs.  The  Indians  had  no 
idea  of  the  private  ownership  of  the  soil;  they  considered  every- 
thing as  belonging  to  their  tribe,  and  least  of  all  had  they  any 
notion  of  the  inheritance  of  property  in  the  American  sense. 
The  Indian  children  belonged  to  the  mother's  family  and  the 
mother  never  belonged  to  the  tribe  of  the  father. 

Although  all  these  sources  of  friction  have  led  the  Indian  to  feel 
unjustly  treated,  it  is  still  true  that  there  has  been  scarcely  any 
actually  destructive  oppression.  The  very  races  which  have  been 
influenced  most  by  American  culture  have  developed  favourably. 
Last  year  the  Indian  mortality  was  4,728,  and  the  number  of 
births  4,742;  the  Indians  are,  therefore,  not  dying  out.  The 
largest  community  is  in  the  so-called  Indian  Territory  and  con- 
sists of  86,000  people,  while  there  are  42,000  in  Arizona.  The 
several  Indian  reservations  together  embrace  117,420  square 
miles. 


The  Indian  question  is  the  least  serious  problem  of  all  those 
which  concern  population  in  America;  by  far  the  most  difficult 
is  the  negro  question.  The  Indian  lives  within  certain  reserva- 
tions, but  the  negro  lives  everywhere  side  by  side  with  the  Ameri- 
can. So  also  the  Indian  troubles  are  narrowly  confined  to  a  small 
reservation  in  the  great  field  of  American  problems,  but  the  negro 
question  is  met  everywhere  in  American  thought,  and  in  connec- 
tion with  every  American  interest.  There  could  hardly  be  a 
greater  contrast  than  that  between  the  Indian  and  the  negro;  the 
former  is  proud,  self-contained,  selfish  and  revengeful,  passionate 
and  courageous,  keen  and  inventive.  The  negro,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  subservient,  yielding,  almost  childishly  good  natured, 
lazy  and  sensual,  without  energy  or  ambition,  outwardly  apt  to 
learn,  but  without  any  spirit  of  invention  or  intellectual  inde- 


168  THE  AMERICANS 

pendence.  And  still  one  ought  not  to  speak  of  these  millions  of 
people  as  if  they  were  of  one  type.  On  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  there 
are  regions  where  the  black  population  lives  almost  wholly  sunk 
in  the  superstitions  of  its  African  home;  while  in  Harvard  Uni- 
versity a  young  negro  student  has  written  creditable  essays  on 
Kant  and  Hegel.  And  between  these  opposite  poles  exists  a 
population  of  about  nine  millions. 

The  negro  population  of  America  does  not  increase  quite  so 
rapidly  as  the  white,  and  yet  in  forty  years  it  has  increased  two- 
fold. In  the  year  1860,  before  the  slaves  were  freed,  there  were 
4,441,000  blacks;  in  1870,4,880,000;  in  1880,6,580,000;  in  1890, 
7,470,000;  in  1900,  8,803,000.  In  view  of  this  considerable  in- 
crease of  the  negro,  it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  the  problem  will 
lose  anything  of  its  urgency  by  the  more  rapid  growth  of  the  white 
population.  And  at  the  same  time  the  physical  contrast  between 
the  races  is  in  no  wise  decreasing,  because  there  is  no  mixing  of 
the  white  and  black  races  to-day,  as  there  very  frequently  was  be- 
fore the  war.  It  will  not  be  long  before  the  coloured  population 
will  be  twice  the  entire  population  which  Canada  to-day  has.  These 
people  are  distributed  geographically,  so  that  much  the  largest 
part  lives  in  those  states  which  before  the  war  practised  slavery. 
To  be  sure,  an  appreciable  part  has  wandered  into  the  northern 
states,  and  the  poorer  quarters  of  the  large  cities  are  well  infiltrated 
with  blacks.  Four-fifths,  however,  still  remain  in  the  South, 
owing  probably  to  climatic  conditions;  the  negro  race  thrives 
better  in  a  warm  climate.  But  it  belongs  there  economically  also, 
and  has  nearly  every  reason  for  staying  there  in  future. 

Nevertheless,  the  negro  question  is  by  no  means  a  problem  for 
the  South  alone;  the  North  has  its  interests,  and  it  becomes  clearer 
all  the  time  that  the  solution  of  the  problem  will  depend  in  large 
part  on  the  co-operation  of  the  North.  In  the  first  place  it  was  the 
North  which  set  the  negro  free,  and  which,  therefore,  is  partly  re- 
sponsible for  what  he  is  to-day;  and  it  must  lie  with  the  North  to 
decide  whether  the  great  dangers  which  to-day  threaten  can  in  any 
way  be  obviated.  Europe  has  so  far  considered  only  one  feature 
of  the  negro  question  —  that  of  slavery.  All  Europe  read  "Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin,"  and  thought  the  difficulty  solved  as  soon  as  the 
negro  was  freed  from  his  chains  and  the  poorest  negro  came  into 
his  human  right  of  freedom.  Europe  was  not  aware  that  in  this 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  i69 

wise  still  greater  problems  were  created,  and  that  greater  springs 
of  misery  and  misfortune  for  the  negro  there  took  their  origin. 
Nor  does  Europe  realize  that  opposition  between  whites  and  blacks 
has  never  been  in  the  history  of  America  so  sharp  and  bitter  and 
full  of  hatred  as  it  is  to-day.  Just  in  the  last  few  years  the  hatred 
has  grown  on  both  sides,  so  that  no  friend  of  the  country  can  look 
into  the  future  without  misgivings.  "  Das  eben  ist  die  Frucht  der 
bosen  Tat." 

Yet  where  did  the  sin  begin  ?  Shall  the  blame  fall  on  the  Eng- 
lish Parliament,  which  countenanced  and  even  encouraged  the 
trade  in  human  bodies,  or  shall  it  fall  on  the  Southern  States,  which 
kept  the  slaves  in  ignorance,  and  even  threatened  to  punish  any  one 
who  should  instruct  them  ?  Or  shall  it  fall  on  the  Northern  States, 
which  were  chiefly  responsible  for  immediately  granting  to  the 
freedmen,  for  the  sake  of  party  politics,  all  prerogatives  of  fellow- 
citizenship  ?  Or  shall  the  fault  be  put  on  the  negro  himself,  who 
saw  in  his  freedom  from  slavery  an  open  door  to  idleness  and 
worthlessness  ? 

For  generations  the  white  man  has  regarded  the  black  man  as 
merchandise,  has  forcibly  dragged  him  from  his  African  jungles  to 
make  him  work  in  ignorance  and  oppression  on  the  cotton,  rice,  and 
tobacco  fields  of  a  white  master.  Then  all  at  once  he  was  made 
free  and  became  an  equal  citizen  in  a  country  which,  in  its  abilities, 
its  feelings,  its  laws,  and  its  Constitution,  had  the  culture  of  two 
thousand  years  behind  it.  How  has  this  emancipation  worked  on 
these  millions  ?  The  first  decade  was  a  period  of  unrest  and  of 
almost  frightened  awakening  to  the  consciousness  of  physical  free- 
dom, in  the  midst  of  all  the  after-effects  of  the  fearful  war.  The 
negro  was  terrified  by  Southern  secret  societies  which  were  plan- 
ning vengeance,  and  confused  by  the  dogmas  of  unscrupulous  poli- 
ticians who  canvassed  the  states  which  had  been  so  savagely 
shaken  by  the  war,  in  order  to  gather  up  whatever  might  be  found; 
and  he  was  confused  by  a  thousand  other  contradictions  in  public 
sentiment.  Nowhere  was  there  a  secure  refuge.  Then  followed 
the  time  in  which  the  negroes  hoped  to  employ  their  political  power 
to  advantage;  the  negroes  were  to  be  prospered  by  their  ballot. 
But  they  found  this  to  be  a  hopeless  mistake.  Then  they  believed 
a  better  way  was  to  be  found  in  the  public  schools  and  books.  But 
the  negro  was  again  turned  back;  he  needed  not  knowledge  but 


170  THE  AMERICANS 

the  power  to  do,  not  books  but  a  trade.  So  his  rallying-cry  has 
shifted.  The  blacks  have  never  lost  heart,  and  in  a  certain  sense 
it  must  in  justice  be  added  the  whites  have  never  lacked  good-will. 
And  yet,  after  forty  years  of  freedom,  the  results  are  highly  dis- 
couraging. 

On  the  outside  there  is  much  that  speaks  of  almost  brilliant  suc- 
cess. The  negroes  have  to-day  in  the  United  States  450  newspa- 
pers and  four  magazines;  350  books  have  been  written  by  ne- 
groes; half  of  all  the  negro  children  are  regularly  taught  in  schools; 
there  are  30,000  black  teachers,  school-houses  worth  more  than 
$10,000,000,  forty-one  seminaries  for  teachers,  and  churches  worth 
over  $25,000,000.  There  are  ten  thousand  black  musicians  and 
hundreds  of  lawyers.  The  negroes  own  four  large  banks, 
130,000  farms,  and  150,000  homes,  and  they  pay  taxes  on  $650,- 
000,000  worth  of  real  and  personal  property.  The  four  past 
decades  have  therefore  brought  some  progress  to  the  freedman. 
And  yet,  in  studying  the  situation,  one  is  obliged  to  say  that  these 
figures  are  somewhat  deceptive.  The  majority  of  negroes  are 
still  in  such  a  state  of  poverty  and  misery,  of  illiteracy  and  mental 
backwardness,  that  the  negroes  who  can  be  at  all  compared  with 
the  middle  class  of  Americans  are  vanishingly  few.  Even  the 
teachers  and  the  doctors  and  pastors  seem  only  very  little  to  differ 
from  the  proletariat;  and  although  there  is  many  a  negro  of 
means,  it  is  still  a  question  whether  he  is  able  to  enjoy  his  property, 
whether  the  dollar  in  his  hand  is  the  same  as  in  the  hand  of  a 
white  man. 

A  part  of  the  black  population  has  certainly  made  real  progress, 
but  a  larger  part  is  humanly  more  degraded  than  before  the  slaves 
were  freed;  and  if  one  looks  at  it  merely  as  a  utilitarian,  consider- 
ing only  the  amount  of  pleasure  which  the  negroes  enjoy,  one  can- 
not doubt  that  the  general  mass  of  negroes  was  happier  under 
slavery.  Their  temperament  is  crueller  to  them  than  any  planta- 
tion master  could  have  been.  The  negro  —  we  must  have  no 
illusions  on  that  point  —  has  partly  gone  backward.  The  capacity 
for  hard  work  which  he  acquired  in  four  generations  of  slavery, 
he  has  in  large  part  lost  again  during  forty  years  of  freedom; 
although,  indeed,  the  tremendous  cotton  harvests  from  the 
Southern  States  are  gathered  almost  wholly  by  negro  labour.  It 
must  be  left  to  anthropology  to  find  out  whether  the  negro 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  171 

race  is  actually  capable  of  such  complete  development  as 
the  Caucasian  race  has  come  to  after  thousands  of  years  of 
steady  labour  and  progress.  The  student  of  social  politics  need 
not  go  into  such  speculations;  he  faces  the  fact  that  the  African 
negro  has  not  had  the  thousands  of  years  of  such  training,  and 
therefore,  although  he  might  be  theoretically  capable  of  the  highest 
culture,  yet  practically  he  is  still  unprepared  for  the  higher 
duties  of  civilization.  Under  the  severe  discipline  of  slavery  he 
overcame  his  lazy  instincts  and  learned  how  to  work  both  in  the 
field  and  in  the  shop,  according  as  the  needs  of  his  master  required, 
and  became  in  this  way  a  useful  member  of  society;  but  he  was  re- 
lieved of  all  other  cares.  His  owner  provided  him  with  house  and 
nourishment,  cared  for  him  in  illness,  and  protected  him  like  any 
other  valuable  piece  of  property. 

All  this  was  suddenly  changed  on  the  great  day  when  freedom 
was  declared;  no  one  compelled  the  negro  to  work  then;  he  was 
free  to  follow  his  instinct  to  do  nothing;  no  one  punished  him  when 
he  gave  himself  over  to  sensuality  and  indolence.  But  on  the  other 
side  nobody  now  took  care  of  him;  in  becoming  his  own  master  he 
remained  his  own  slave.  He  was  suddenly  pushed  into  the  strug- 
gle for  existence,  and  the  less  he  was  forced  to  learn  the  less  he  was 
ready  for  the  fight.  There  thus  grew  up  an  increasing  mass  of 
poverty-stricken  negroes,  among  whom  immorality  and  crime 
could  thrive;  and  oftentimes  the  heavy  weight  of  this  mass  has 
dragged  down  with  it  those  who  would  have  been  better.  Worst 
of  all,  it  has  strengthened  the  aversion  of  the  whites  a  hundred-fold, 
and  the  best  members  of  the  negro  race  have  had  to  suffer  for  the 
laziness,  the  sensuality,  and  the  dishonesty  of  the  great  masses. 

The  real  tragedy  is  not  in  the  lives  of  the  most  miserable,  but 
in  the  lives  of  those  who  wish  to  rise,  who  feel  the  mistakes  of  their 
fellow-negroes  and  the  injustice  of  their  white  opponents,  who  de- 
sire to  assimilate  everything  high  and  good  in  the  culture  about 
them,  and  yet  who  know  that  they  do  not,  strictly  speaking,  belong 
to  such  a  culture.  The  negroes  of  the  lower  type  are  sunk  in  their 
indifference;  they  while  away  the  hours  in  coarse  enjoyments,  and 
are  perfectly  content  with  a  few  watermelons  while  they  dance  and 
sing.  The  onlooker  is  disheartened,  but  they  themselves  laugh  like 
children.  The  better  negroes,  on  the  other  hand,  feel  all  the  hard- 
ship and  carry  the  weight  of  the  problem  on  their  souls.  They  go 


172  THE  AMERICANS 

through  life  fully  conscious  of  an  insoluble  contradiction  in  their 
existence;  they  feel  that  it  is  denied  them  to  participate  immedi- 
ately in  life,  and  that  they  must  always  see  themselves  with  the  eyes 
of  others,  and  lead  in  a  way  a  double  existence.  As  one  of  them 
has  recently  said,  they  are  always  conscious  of  being  a  problem. 

They  themselves  have  not  chosen  their  lot,  they  did  not  come  of 
their  own  accord  from  Africa,  nor  gladly  take  on  the  yoke  of  slav- 
ery; nor  were  they  by  their  own  efforts  saved  from  slavery.  They 
have  been  passive  at  every  turn  of  fortune.  Now  they  wish  to  com- 
mence to  do  their  best  and  to  give  their  best,  and  they  have  to  do 
this  in  an  environment  for  which  they  are  wholly  unprepared  and 
which  is  wholly  beyond  them  in  its  culture  They  have  not  them- 
selves worked  out  this  civilization;  they  belong  historically  in  an- 
other system,  and  remain  here  at  best  mere  imitators.  And  the 
better  they  succeed  in  being  like  their  neighbours,  the  more  they 
become  unlike  what  they  ought  naturally  to  develop  into. 

This  feeling  of  disparateness  leads  directly  to  the  feeling  of  em- 
bitterment.  In  the  general  masses,  however,  it  is  the  feeling  of 
incompetence  to  support  the  struggle  for  existence  successfully 
which  turns  necessarily  into  a  bitter  hatred  of  the  whites.  And  the 
more  the  lack  of  discipline  and  the  laziness  of  the  black  cause  the 
whites  to  hold  him  in  check,  so  much  the  more  brightly  burns  this 
hatred.  But  all  students  of  the  South  believe  that  this  hatred 
has  come  about  wholly  since  the  negro  was  declared  free.  The 
slave  was  faithful  and  devoted  to  his  master,  who  took  care  of  him; 
he  hated  work,  but  did  not  hate  the  white  man,  and  took  his  state 
of  slavery  as  a  matter  of  course,  much  as  one  takes  one's  inability 
to  fly.  A  patriarchal  condition  prevailed  in  the  South  before  the 
war,  in  spite  of  the  representations  made  by  political  visionaries. 
Indeed,  it  is  sometimes  difficult  not  to  doubt  whether  it  was 
necessary  to  do  away  with  slavery  so  suddenly  and  forcibly; 
whether  a  good  deal  of  self-respect  would  not  have  been  saved  on 
both  sides,  and  endless  hatred,  embitterment,  and  misery  spared, 
if  the  Northern  States  had  left  the  negro  question  to  itself,  to  be 
solved  in  time  through  organic  rather  than  mechanical  means. 
Perhaps  slavery  would  then  have  gone  gradually  over  into  some 
form  of  patriarchal  relation. 

It  is  too  late  to  philosophize  on  this  point;  doctrinarianism  has 
shaped  the  situation  otherwise.  The  arms  of  the  Civil  War  have 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  173 

decided  in  favour  of  the  North.  It  is  dismal,  but  it  must  be  said 
that  the  actual  events  of  the  ensuing  years  of  peace  have  decided 
rather  in  favour  of  the  view  of  the  South.  To  comprehend  this 
fully,  it  is  not  enough  to  ask  merely,  as  we  have  done  so  far,  how 
the  negro  now  feels;  but  more  specially  to  ask  what  the  American 
now  thinks. 

What  is  to-day  the  relation  between  the  white  man  and  the  ne- 
gro ?  There  is  a  difference  here  between  the  North  and  the  South, 
and  yet  one  thing  is  true  for  both:  the  American  feels  that  the 
cleft  between  the  white  and  black  races  is  greater  now  than  ever 
before.  So  far  as  the  North  is  concerned,  the  political  view  of  the 
problem  has  probably  changed  very  little.  Specially  the  New 
England  States,  whose  exalted  ethical  motives  were  beyond  all 
doubt  —  as  perhaps  is  not  so  certain  of  the  Middle  States  —  still 
sympathize  to-day  with  the  negro  as  a  proper  claimant  of  human 
rights.  But  unfortunately  one  may  believe  in  the  negro  in  the  ab- 
stract, and  yet  shrink  from  contact  with  him  in  the  concrete.  The 
personal  dislike  of  the  black  man,  one  might  even  call  it  an  aesthet- 
ic antipathy,  is  really  more  general  and  wide-spread  in  the  North 
than  in  the  South.  South  of  Washington  one  can  scarcely  be 
shaved  except  by  a  negro,  while  north  of  Philadelphia  a  white  man 
would  quite  decline  to  patronize  a  coloured  barber.  A  Southerner 
is  even  not  averse  to  having  a  black  nurse  in  the  house,  while  in  the 
Northern  States  that  would  never  be  thought  of.  Whenever  the 
principle  is  to  be  upheld,  the  negro  is  made  welcome  in  the  North. 
He  is  granted  here  and  there  a  small  public  office;  he  delivers  ora- 
tions, and  is  admitted  to  public  organizations;  he  marches  in  the 
parades  of  war  veterans,  and  a  few  negroes  attend  the  universities. 
And  still  there  is  no  real  social  intercourse  between  the  races.  In 
no  club  or  private  house  and  on  no  private  occasions  does  one  meet 
a  negro.  And  here  the  European  should  bear  specially  in  mind 
that  negroes  are  not  seldom  men  and  women  whose  faces  are  per- 
haps as  white  as  any  Yankee's,  and  who  often  have  only  the  faint- 
est taint  of  African  blood. 

At  the  very  best  the  Northerner  plays  philanthropist  toward  the 
negro,  takes  care  of  his  schools  and  churches,  helps  him  to  help 
himself,  and  to  carve  out  his  economic  freedom.  But  even  here  the 
feeling  has  been  growing  more  and  more  in  recent  years  that  the 
situation  is  somehow  fundamentally  false,  and  that  the  North  has 


i74.  THE  AMERICANS 

acted  hastily  and  imprudently  in  accepting  the  emancipated  negro 
on  terms  of  so  complete  equality.  The  feeling  of  dissatisfaction  is 
growing  in  the  North,  and  it  is  not  an  accident  that  the  negro  pop- 
ulation of  the  North  grows  so  slowly,  although  the  negro  is  always 
ready  to  wander,  and  would  crowd  in  great  numbers  to  the 
North  if  he  might  hope  to  better  his  fortunes  there.  The  negro 
feels,  however,  intensely  that  he  is  still  less  a  match  for  the  ener- 
getic Northerner  in  the  industrial  competition  than  for  the  white 
man  of  the  South,  and  that  it  is  often  easier  to  endure  the 
hatred  of  the  Southerner  than  the  coldly  theoretical  sufferance  of 
the  Northerner  when  joined,  as  it  is,  with  a  personal  distaste  so 
pronounced. 

In  the  South  it  is  quite  different.  There  could  hardly  be  an  aes- 
thetic aversion  for  the  race,  when  for  generations  blacks  and  whites 
have  lived  together,  when  all  the  servants  of  the  home  have  been 
coloured,  and  the  children  have  grown  up  on  the  plantations  with 
their  little  black  playmates.  There  has  been  a  good  deal  in  the  easy 
good-nature  of  the  negro  which  the  Southern  white  man  has  always 
found  sympathetic,  and  he  responded  in  former  times  to  the  dis- 
interested faithfulness  of  the  slaves  with  a  real  attachment.  And 
although  this  may  have  been  such  fondness  as  one  feels  for  a  faith- 
ful dog  or  an  intelligent  horse,  there  was  in  it,  nevertheless,  no  trace 
of  that  physical  repulsion  felt  by  the  Northerner.  The  same  is  fun- 
damentally true  to-day,  and  the  rhetorical  emphasis  of  the  physical 
antipathy  toward  the  black  which  one  finds  in  Southern  speeches 
is  certainly  in  part  hypocritical.  It  is  true  that  even  to-day  the 
poorest  white  man  would  think  himself  too  good  to  marry  the 
most  admirable  coloured  woman;  but  the  reason  of  this  would  lie 
in  social  principles,  and  not,  as  politicians  would  like  to  make 
it  appear,  in  any  instinctive  racial  aversion,  since  so  long  as  the 
negroes  were  in  slavery  the  whites  had  no  aversion  to  such  per- 
sonal contamination. 

The  great  opposition  which  now  exists  is  twofold:  it  is  on  the 
one  hand  political  and  on  the  other  social.  The  political  situation 
of  the  South  has  been  indeed  dominated  in  the  last  forty  years  by 
the  negro  question.  There  have  been  four  distinct  periods  of  de- 
velopment; the  first  goes  from  the  end  of  the  Civil  War  to  1875. 
It  was  the  time  when  the  negro  had  first  received  the  suffrage  and 
become  a  political  factor,  the  most  dreary  time  which  the  South 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  175 

ever  knew.  It  was  economically  ruined,  was  overrun  with  a  dis- 
gusting army  of  unscrupulous  politicians,  who  wanted  nothing  but 
to  pervert  the  ignorant  coloured  voters  for  the  lowest  political  ends. 
The  victorious  party  in  the  North  sent  its  menials  down  to  organ- 
ize the  coloured  quarry,  and  by  mere  numbers  to  outdo  all  inde- 
pendent activities  of  the  white  population. 

One  can  easily  understand  why  a  Southern  historian  should  say 
that  the  Southern  States  look  back  without  bitterness  on  the  years 
of  the  war,  when  brave  men  met  brave  men  on  the  field  of  battle; 
but  that  they  are  furious  when  they  remember  the  years  which  fol- 
lowed, when  the  victors,  partly  out  of  mistaken  philanthropy, 
partly  out  of  thoughtlessness  and  indifference,  and  partly  out  of 
evil  intent,  hastened  to  put  the  reins  of  government  into  the  hands 
of  a  race  which  was  hardly  out  of  African  barbarism;  and  thus  ut- 
terly disheartened  the  men  and  women  who  had  built  up  the  splen- 
did culture  of  the  Old  South.  Perhaps  there  was  no  phase  of 
American  history,  he  says,  so  filled  with  poetry  and  romantic  charm 
as  the  life  of  the  South  in  the  last  ten  years  before  the  war;  and 
certainly  no  period  has  been  so  full  of  mistakes,  uncertainties,  and 
crime  as  the  decade  immediately  following.  A  reaction  had  to 
come,  and  it  came  in  the  twenty  years  between  1875  an(^  l$95- 
The  South  betook  itself  to  devious  methods  at  the  ballot-box.  It 
was  recognized  that  falsification  of  election  returns  was  an  evil,  but 
it  was  thought  to  be  a  worse  evil  for  the  country  to  be  handed  over 
to  the  low  domination  of  illiterate  negroes.  The  political  power  of 
the  negro  has  been  broken  in  this  way.  Again  and  again  the  same 
method  was  resorted  to,  until  finally  the  public  opinion  of  the  South 
approved  of  it,  and  those  who  juggled  with  the  ballot-box  were 
not  pursued  by  the  arm  of  the  law,  because  the  general  opinion 
was  with  them. 

There  has  been  another  and  more  important  fact.  Slowly  all 
party  opposition  between  the  whites  vanished,  and  the  race  ques- 
tion became  the  sole  political  issue.  To  be  sure,  there  have  been 
free-traders  and  protectionists  in  the  South,  and  representatives  of 
all  other  party  principles;  but  all  genuine  party  life  flagged  and  all 
less  important  distinctions  vanished  at  the  ballot-box  when  the 
whites  rallied  against  the  blacks,  and  since  the  negroes  voted  inva- 
riably with  the  Republican  party,  which  had  set  them  free,  the  en- 
tire white  population  of  the  South  has  become  Democratic.  By  this 


176  THE  AMERICANS 

political  consolidation,  the  power  of  the  negro  has  been  further 
restricted. 

People  have  gradually  become  convinced,  however,  that  political 
life  stagnates  when  large  states  have  only  the  one  fixed  idea,  as  if 
hypnotized  by  the  race  issue.  The  need  has  been  felt  anew  of  par- 
ticipating once  more  in  all  the  great  problems  which  interest  the 
nation  and  which  create  the  parties.  The  South  looks  back  long- 
ingly on  the  time  when  it  used  to  furnish  the  most  brilliant  states- 
men of  the  nation.  The  South  has  become  also  aware  that  so  soon 
as  public  opinion  allows  a  systematic  corruption  of  the  ballot-box, 
then  every  kind  of  selfishness  and  corruption  has  an  easy  chance 
to  creep  in. 

Let  once  the  election  returns  be  falsified  in  order  to  wipe  out  a 
negro  majority,  and  they  may  be  falsified  the  next  time  in  favour  of 
some  commercial  conspiracy.  An  abyss  opens  up  which  is  truly 
bottomless.  So  a  third  period  has  arrived.  In  place  of  nullifying 
the  negro  suffrage  by  illegal  means,  the  South  has  been  thinking 
out  legal  measures  for  limiting  it.  The  Constitution  prescribes 
merely  that  no  one  shall  be  deprived  of  his  vote  by  reason  of  his 
colour,  but  it  has  been  left  to  the  several  states  to  determine  what 
the  other  conditions  shall  be  which  govern  the  right  to  vote.  Thus 
any  state  is  free  to  place  a  certain  property  condition,  or  to  require 
a  certain  degree  of  education  from  every  man  who  votes;  but  all 
such  conditions  must  apply  to  all  inhabitants  of  the  state  alike; 
thus,  for  instance,  in  four  states,  and  only  in  those  four,  do  women 
enjoy  the  suffrage.  Now  the  Southern  States  have  commenced  to 
make  extensive  use  of  this  state  privilege.  They  are  not  allowed 
to  exclude  the  negro  as  a  negro  since  the  Northern  States  have 
added  the  Fifteenth  Amendment  of  the  Constitution,  and  there 
would  be  no  hope  of  altering  this.  But  so  long  as  the  educational 
status  of  the  negro  is  so  far  behind  that  of  the  white  man,  the  num- 
ber of  those  who  cannot  read  is  still  so  large  that  a  heavy  blow  is 
struck  at  negro  political  domination  when  a  state  decides  to  re- 
strict the  suffrage  to  those  who  can  read  and  understand  the  Con- 
stitution. It  is  clear  that  at  the  same  time  the  test  of  this  which 
necessarily  has  to  be  made  leaves  the  coveted  free-play  to  the 
white  man's  discretion. 

The  last  few  years  have  witnessed  a  great  advance  of  this  new 
movement.  The  political  power  of  the  negro  is  less  than  ever,  and 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  177 

the  former  illegal  measures  to  circumvent  it  are  no  longer  needed. 
It  cannot  be  denied  that  in  two  ways  this  works  directly  in  the  in- 
terests of  civilization.  On  the  one  hand,  it  incites  the  negro  popu- 
lation to  take  measures  for  the  education  of  its  children,  since  by 
going  to  school  the  negro  can  comply  with  the  conditions  of  suf- 
frage. On  the  other  hand,  it  frees  Southern  politics  from  the  op- 
pressive race  question,  and  allows  real  party  problems  to  become 
once  more  active  issues  among  the  whites.  The  political  contrast 
is,  therefore,  to-day  somewhat  lessened,  although  both  parties  re- 
gard it  rather  as  a  mere  cessation  of  hostilities;  since  it  is  by  no 
means  certain  that  Northern  political  forces  at  Washington  will 
not  once  more  undo  this  infringement  on  the  negroes'  rights,  and 
whether  once  more,  in  case  of  a  real  party  division  between  the 
Southern  whites,  the  negroes  will  not  have  the  deciding  vote.  If 
the  doctrinarianism  of  the  North  should  actually  prevail  and  be 
able  to  set  aside  these  examinations  in  reading  and  in  intelligence 
which  have  been  aimed  against  the  negro,  on  the  ground  that 
they  are  contrary  to  the  Constitution,  it  would  indeed  frustrate  a 
great  movement  toward  political  peace.  When  the  abolitionists 
at  the  end  of  the  Civil  War  granted  the  suffrage  to  the  negroes, 
they  were  at  least  able  to  adduce  one  very  good  excuse;  they 
claimed  that  the  Southern  States  would  continue  in  some  new  form 
to  hold  the  negro  in  subjection  if  he  was  not  protected  by  either  a 
military  guard  or  by  his  right  to  vote,  and  since  the  army  was  to  be 
disbanded  the  right  to  vote  was  given  him.  To-day  there  is  no 
such  danger;  the  legal  exclusion  of  the  Southern  negro  from  the 
ballot-box  must  be  accounted  an  advance. 

The  social  question,  however,  is  even  more  important  to-day  than 
the  political  one,  and  it  is  one  which  grows  day  by  day.  We  have 
said  already  that  the  Southerner  has  no  instinctive  aversion  to  the 
negro  race,  and  his  desire  for  racial  parity  is  not  an  instinct  but  a 
theory,  of  which  the  fathers  of  the  present  white  man  knew  noth- 
ing. To  be  sure,  the  situation  cannot  be  simply  formulated,  but  it 
probably  comes  nearest  to  the  truth  to  say  that  the  white  man's 
hatred  is  the  inherited  instinct  of  the  slave-holder.  In  all  his  sen- 
timents the  Southerner  is  dominated  by  the  once  natural  feeling 
that  the  negro  is  his  helpless  subject.  The  white  man  is  not  cruel 
in  this;  he  wants  to  protect  the  negro  and  to  be  kind,  but  he  can 
allow  him  no  will  of  his  own.  He  has  accustomed  himself  to  the 


178  THE  AMERICANS 

slavish  obedience  of  the  negro,  as  the  opium-eater  is  accustomed 
to  his  opium.  And  to  give  up  the  paralyzing  drug  is  intolerable  to 
his  nervous  system. 

The  everywhere  repeated  cry  that  the  purity  of  the  race  is  in  dan- 
ger, if  social  equality  is  established,  is  only  a  pretext;  it  is  in  truth 
the  social  equality  itself  which  calls  forth  the  hysterical  excitement. 
No  white  man,  for  instance,  in  the  South  would  go  into  the  dining- 
room  of  a  hotel  in  which  a  single  negro  woman  should  be  sitting; 
but  this  is  not  because  a  mere  proximity  would  be  disagreeable,  as 
it  would  actually  be  to  the  Northerner,  but  because  he  could  not 
endure  such  appearance  of  equality.  So  soon  as  a  little  white 
child  sits  beside  the  negro  woman,  so  that  she  is  seen  to  be  a  ser- 
vant and  her  socially  inferior  station  is  made  plain,  then  her  pres- 
ence is  no  longer  felt  to  be  at  all  disagreeable. 

In  his  fight  against  social  equality  with  the  negro,  the  Southerner 
resorts  to  more  and  more  violent  means;  and  while  he  works  him- 
self up  to  an  increasing  pitch  of  excitement  by  the  energy  of  his 
opposition,  the  resulting  social  humiliation  increases  the  embitter- 
ment  of  the  negro.  That  no  white  hotel,  restaurant,  theatre,  or 
sleeping-car  is  open  to  the  black  is  a  matter  of  course;  this  is  vir- 
tually true  also  in  the  North.  But  it  has  contributed  very  much 
to  renewed  disaffection,  that  also  the  ordinary  railroad  trains  and 
street  cars  begin  to  make  a  similar  distinction. 

The  South  is  putting  a  premium  on  every  kind  of  harsh  social 
affront  to  the  black  man,  and  relentlessly  punishes  the  slightest 
social  recognition.  When  the  president  of  a  negro  college  was  the 
guest  of  a  Northern  hotel  and  the  chamber-maid  refused  to  put  his 
room  to  rights  and  was  therefore  dismissed,  the  South  got  together, 
by  a  popular  subscription,  a  large  purse  for  this  heroine.  It  is  only 
from  this  point  of  view  that  one  can  understand  the  great  excite- 
ment which  swept  through  the  South  when  President  Roosevelt 
had  the  courage  to  invite  to  his  table  Booker  T.  Washington,  the 
most  distinguished  negro  of  the  country.  Professor  Basset,  the 
historian,  has  declared,  amid  the  fierce  resentment  of  the  South, 
that,  with  the  exception  of  General  Lee,  Booker  Washington  is  the 
greatest  man  who  has  been  born  in  the  South  for  a  hundred  years. 
But  who  inquires  after  the  merits  of  a  single  man  when  the  prin- 
ciple of  social  inequality  is  at  stake  ?  If  the  President  had  worked  for 
several  months  from  early  to  late  at  his  desk  with  Booker  T.  Wash- 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION 

ington,  the  fact  would  have  passed  unnoticed.  But  it  is  simply  un- 
pardonable that  he  invited  him  to  the  luncheon  table,  and  even 
very  thoughtful  men  have  shaken  their  heads  in  the  opinion  that 
this  affront  to  the  social  superiority  of  the  white  man  will  very 
sadly  sharpen  the  mutual  antagonism. 

We  must  not  overlook  in  this  connection  the  various  minor  cir- 
cumstances which  have  strengthened  the  lingering  feeling  of  the 
slave-owner.  First  of  all,  there  is  the  unrestrained  sensuality  of 
the  negro,  which  has  led  him  time  after  time  to  attempt  criminal 
aggressions  on  white  women,  and  so  contributed  infinitely  to  the 
misery  of  his  situation.  It  is  a  gross  exaggeration  when  the  South- 
ern demagogue  reiterates  again  and  again  that  no  man  in  the  South 
can  feel  that  his  wife,  his  sister,  or  daughter  is  secure  from  the  bes- 
tiality of  the  blacks;  and  yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that  such  crimes 
are  shockingly  frequent,  and  they  are  the  more  significant,  since 
the-  continual  fear  of  this  danger  seriously  threatens  the  growth  of 
farming  life  with  its  lonely  farm-houses.  Here  the  barbarities  of 
lynch  law  have  come  in,  and  the  rapid  growth  of  racial  hatred  may 
be  seen  in  the  increased  number  of  lynchings  during  recent  years. 
But  every  lynching  reacts  to  inoculate  hatred  and  cruel  ferocity  in 
the  public  organism,  and  so  the  bestial  instincts  and  the  lawless 
punishments  work  together  to  debase  the  masses  in  the  Southern 
States. 

It  is  not  only  a  question  of  the  immorality  of  the  negro  and  the 
lynch  courts  of'the  white  man,  but  in  other  ways  the  negro  shows 
himself  inclined  to  crime,  and  the  white  man  to  all  sorts  of  lawless 
acts  against  him.  The  negroes  are  disproportionately  represented 
in  Southern  prisons,  although  this  comes  partly  from  the  fact  that 
the  black  man  is  punished  for  the  slightest  misdemeanour,  while 
the  white  man  is  readily  let  off.  In  fact,  it  is  difficult  in  the  South 
to  find  a  jury  to  convict  a  white  man  of  any  crime  done  against  a 
negro.  This  application  of  a  two-fold  standard  of  justice  leads 
quickly  to  a  general  arbitrariness  which  fits  only  too  well  with  the 
natural  instincts  of  the  slave-holder.  Arbitrary  privileges  in  place 
of  equal  rights  have  always  been  the  essential  point  in  his  exist- 
ence, and  so  it  happens  that  even  where  no  negroes  are  in  question 
Southern  juries  hand  down  verdicts  which  scandalize  the  whole 
country.  Indeed,  there  is  no  doubt  that  secret  attempts  have  even 
been  made,  in  all  sorts  of  devious  forms,  to  re-establish  the  state  of 


i8o  THE  AMERICANS 

slavery.  For  some  small  misdemeanour  negroes  are  condemned  to 
pay  a  very  heavy  fine,  and  to  furnish  this  they  have  to  let  them- 
selves out  to  some  sort  of  contract  labour  under  white  masters, 
which  amounts  to  the  same  thing  as  slavery.  Here  again  the 
whole  country  is  horrified  when  the  facts  come  to  be  known.  But 
no  means  have  yet  been  thought  of  for  lessening  the  bitter  hatred 
which  exists,  and  so  long  as  the  sharp  social  contrast  remains  there 
will  continue  to  be  evasions  and  violations  of  the  law,  to  give  vent 
to  the  hatred  and  bitter  feeling. 

What  now  may  one  look  for,  that  shall  put  an  end  to  these 
unhappy  doings  ?  The  Africans  have  had  their  Zionists,  who  wish 
to  lead  them  back  to  their  native  forests  in  Africa,  and  many  peo- 
ple have  recently  fancied  that  the  problem  would  be  solved  by  for- 
cible deportation  to  the  Philippines.  These  dreams  are  useless; 
nine  million  people  cannot  be  dumped  on  the  other  side  of  the 
ocean,  cannot  be  torn  from  their  homes.  Least  of  all  could  they  be 
brought  to  combine  with  the  entirely  different  population  of  the 
Philippines.  More  than  that,  the  South  itself  would  fight  tooth  and 
nail  against  losing  so  many  labourers;  it  would  be  industrially 
ruined,  and  would  be  more  grievously  torn  up  than  it  was  after  the 
Civil  War,  if  in  fact  some  magic  ship  could  carry  every  black  to  the 
negro  republic  of  Liberia,  on  the  African  coast.  For  the  same 
reason  it  is  impracticable  to  bring  together  all  negroes  in  one  or 
two  Southern  States  and  leave  them  to  work  out  their  own  salva- 
tion. In  the  first  place,  no  state  would  be  willing  to  draw  this  black 
lot,  while  the  white  population  of  the  other  Southern  States  would 
suffer  fully  as  much.  The  student  of  social  politics,  finally,  can- 
not doubt  for  a  moment  that  the  negro  progresses  only  when  he  is 
in  constant  contact  with  white  men,  and  degenerates  with  fearful 
speed  when  he  is  left  to  himself. 

Among  those  negroes  who  have  been  called  to  be  the  leaders  of 
their  people,  and  who  form  an  independent  opinion  of  the  situa- 
tion, one  finds  two  very  different  tendencies.  One  of  these  is  to 
reform  from  the  top  down,  the  other  from  the  bottom  up.  The 
energies  of  Dubois  are  typical  of  the  first  tendency,  Booker  Wash- 
ington's of  the  second.  Dubois,  and  many  of  the  most  educated 
and  advanced  negroes  with  him,  believe  in  the  special  mission  of 
the  negro  race.  The  negro  does  not  want  to  be,  and  ought  not  to 
be,  a  second  order  of  American,  but  the  United  States  are  destined 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  181 

by  Providence  to  develop  two  great  and  diverse  but  co-operating 
peoples,  the  Americans  and  the  negroes.  It  is  therefore  the  work 
of  the  African  not  simply  to  imitate  the  white  man's  culture,  but  to 
develop  independently  a  special  culture  suited  to  his  own  national 
traits.  They  feel  instinctively  that  a  few  great  men  of  special  physi- 
ognomy, two  or  three  geniuses  coming  from  their  race,  will  do  more 
for  the  honour  of  their  people  and  for  the  belief  in  its  possibilities, 
than  the  slow  elevation  of  the  great  mass.  They  lay  strong  em- 
phasis on  the  fact  that  in  his  music,  religion,  and  humour  the  negro 
has  developed  strongly  individual  traits,  and  that  the  people  who 
forty  years  ago  were  in  slavery  have  developed  in  a  generation  under 
unfavourable  circumstances  a  number  of  shining  orators,  politi- 
cians, and  writers.  Thus  they  feel  a  most  natural  ambition  to  make 
away  for  the  best  and  strongest,  to  elevate  them,  and  to  incite  them 
to  their  highest  achievements.  The  ideal  is  thus,  in  the  work  of 
the  most  gifted  leaders  to  present  to  the  world  a  new  negro  culture, 
by  which  the  right  of  independent  existence  for  the  black  race  in 
America  may  be  secured. 

Booker  Washington  and  his  friends  wish  to  go  a  quieter  road; 
and  he  has  with  him  the  sympathies  of  the  best  white  people  in  the 
country.  They  look  for  salvation  not  from  a  few  brilliantly  ex- 
ceptional negroes,  but  from  the  slow  and  steady  enlightenment  of 
the  masses;  and  their  real  leaders  are  to  be  not  those  who  accom- 
plish great  things  as  individuals,  but  rather  they  who  best  serve 
in  the  slow  work  of  uplifting  their  people.  These  men  see  clearly 
that  there  are  to-day  no  indications  of  really  great  accomplish- 
ments and  independent  feats  in  the  way  of  culture,  and  that  such 
things  are  hardly  to  be  looked  for  in  the  immediate  future.  At 
the  very  best  it  is  a  question  of  an  unusual  talent  for  imitating  an 
alien  culture. 

If,  then,  one  can  hardly  speak  of  brilliant  genius  in  the  upper 
strata  —  and  it  is  to  be  admitted  that  Booker  Washington  himself 
is  not  a  really  great,  independent,  and  commanding  personality 
—  it  would  be  on  the  other  hand  much  more  distorted  to  estimate 
the  negro  from  his  lowest  strata,  from  the  lazy  and  criminal  indi- 
viduals. The  great  mass  of  negroes  is  uneducated  and  possesses 
no  manual  training  for  an  occupation;  but  it  is  honest,  healthy,  and 
fit  social  material,  which  only  needs  to  be  trained  in  order  to  become 
valuable  to  the  whole  community.  First  of  all,  the  negro  ought  to 


182  THE  AMERICANS 

learn  what  he  has  once  learned  as  a  slave  —  a  manual  trade;  he 
should  perfect  himself  in  work  of  the  hands  or  in  some  honest 
agricultural  occupation,  not  seek  to  create  a  new  civilization,  but 
more  modestly  to  identify  his  race  with  the  destinies  of  the  white 
nation  by  real,  honest,  thoughtful,  true,  and  industrious  labour. 
Brilliant  writers  they  do  not  need  so  much  as  good  carpenters  and 
school-teachers;  nor  notable  individual  escapades  in  the  tourney- 
field  of  culture  so  much  as  a  general  dissemination  of  technical 
training.  They  need  schools  for  manual  training  and  institutes 
for  the  development  of  technical  teachers. 

Booker  Washington's  own  institution  in  Tuskegee  has  set  the 
most  admirable  example,  and  the  most  thoughtful  men  in  the 
North  and  South  alike  are  very  ready  to  help  along  all  his  plans. 
They  hope  and  believe  that  so  soon  as  the  masses  of  coloured 
people  have  begun  to  show  themselves  somewrhat  more  useful  to 
the  industry  of  the  country  as  hand-workers,  expert  labourers,  and 
farmers,  that  then  the  mutual  embitterment  will  gradually  die  out 
and  the  fight  for  social  equality  slowly  vanish.  For  on  this  point 
the  more  thoughtful  men  do  not  deceive  themselves;  social  equal- 
ity is  nothing  but  a  phrase  when  it  is  applied  to  the  relation  of  mil- 
lions of  people  to  other  millions.  Among  the  whites  themselves 
no  one  ever  thinks  of  any  real  social  equality;  the  owner  of  a  plan- 
tation no  more  invites  his  white  workmen  in  to  eat  with  him  than 
he  would  invite  a  coloured  man.  And  when  the  Southern  white 
replies  scornfully  to  any  one  who  challenges  his  prejudices,  with 
the  convincing  question,  "Would  you  let  your  sister  marry  a  nig- 
ger ? "  he  is  forgetting,  of  course,  that  he  himself  would  not  let  his 
sister  marry  nine-tenths  of  the  white  men  of  his  community.  So- 
cial equality  can  be  predicated  only  of  small  groups,  and  in  all 
exactness  only  of  individuals. 

Thus  it  might  be  said  that  peace  is  advanced  to-day  chiefly  by 
the  increasing  exertions  for  the  technical  industrial  education  of 
the  black  workman.  But  it  is  not  to  be  forgotten  that  the  negro 
himself,  and  with  him  many  philanthropists  of  the  North,  com- 
prehends the  whole  situation  very  differently  from  the  Southern 
supporters  of  the  movement.  These  latter  are  contented  with 
recent  tendencies,  because  the  negro's  vote  is  curtailed  in  the 
political  sphere,  and  because  he  comes  to  be  classed  socially  with 
the  day-labourer  and  artisan.  The  negro,  however,  looks  on  this 


PROBLEMS  OF  POPULATION  183 

as  a  temporary  stage  in  his  development,  and  hopes  in  good  time 
to  outgrow  it.  He  is  glad  that  the  election  returns  are  no  longer 
falsified  on  his  account,  and  that  legal  means  have  been  resorted 
to.  But  of  course  he  hopes  that  he  will  soon  grow  beyond  these 
conditions,  and  be  finally  favoured  once  more  with  the  suffrage, 
just  as  any  white  man  is. 

It  is  much  the  same  in  the  social  sphere.  He  may  be  satisfied 
for  the  present  that  the  advantages  of  manual  training  and  farm 
labour  are  brought  to  the  fore,  but  this  must  only  be  to  lead  his 
race  up  step  by  step  until  it  has  developed  from  a  mere  working 
class  to  entire  social  equality.  That  which  the  negro  approves 
for  the  moment  is  what  any  white  man  in  the  Southern  States 
would  fix  as  a  permanent  condition.  And  so  it  appears  that  even  in 
this  wise  no  real  solution  of  the  problem  has  been  reached,  al- 
though a  cessation  of  hostilities  has  been  declared.  But  all  these 

O 

efforts  on  the  part  of  leaders  and  philanthropists,  these  delibera- 
tions of  the  best  whites  and  blacks  in  both  the  North  and  South, 
are  still  far  from  carrying  weight  with  the  general  public;  and 
thus,  although  the  beginnings  toward  improvement  are  good,  it 
remains  that  on  the  outside  the  situation  looks  to-day  darker  than 
ever  before. 

Whoever  frees  himself  from  theoretical  doctrines  will  hardly 
doubt  that  the  leading  whites  of  the  Southern  States  have  to-day 
once  more  the  better  insight,  since  they  know  the  negro  better 
than  the  Northerners  do.  They  demand  that  this  limitation  of 
the  negro  in  his  political  rights  and  in  his  daily  occupation  shall 
be  permanent,  and  that  thus  an  organic  situation  shall  come  about 
in  which  the  negro,  although  far  removed  from  an  undeserved 
slavery,  shall  be  equally  far  from  the  complete  enjoyment  of  that 
civilization  which  his  own  race  has  not  worked  out.  That  is, 
he  is  to  be  politically,  economically,  and  socially  dependent.  If 
this  had  happened  at  the  outset,  the  mutual  hatred  which  now 
exists  would  never  have  been  so  fierce;  and  if  the  African  suc- 
ceeds materially  he  will  hardly  notice  the  difference,  while  the 
white  man  will  feel  with  satisfaction  that  his  superiority  has  been 
vindicated.  The  condition  of  the  island  of  Jamaica  is  a  good  in- 
stance in  point.  Its  inhabitants  are  strikingly  superior  to  the 
debased  negroes  of  the  Republic  of  Hayti. 

But  it  is  not  to  be  forgotten  that  history  has  repeatedly  shown 


THE  AMERICANS 

how  impossible  it  is  for  a  people  numbering  millions,  with  limited 
rights,  to  dwell  in  the  midst  of  an  entirely  free  race.  Oppression 
and  injustice  constantly  arise  from  the  limitation  of  rights,  and 
thence  grow  retaliation  and  crime.  And  the  hour  in  which  the 
American  people  narrow  down  the  rights  of  ten  million  blacks 
may  be  the  starting-point  for  fearful  struggles.  The  fact  remains 
that  the  real  solution  of  the  question  is  nowhere  in  sight.  The 
negro  question  is  the  only  really  dark  cloud  on  the  horizon  of  the 
American  nation. 


CHAPTER  NINE 

Internal  Political  Problems 

THE  problems  of  population,  especially  those  concerning  the 
immigration  and  the  negro,  have  taken  considerable  of  our 
attention.  We  shall  be  able  to  survey  problems  of  internal 
politics  more  quickly,  since  we  have  already  met  most  of  them  in 
considering  the  American  form  of  government.  The  insane  pro- 
gramme of  those  who  desire  no  government  at  all,  that  is,  anarchy, 
is  one  of  the  American's  political  problems  only  when  the  deed  of 
some  foreign  assassin  gives  him  a  sudden  fright.  Then  all  sorts 
of  propositions  are  on  foot  to  weed  out  anarchism  stem  and  root; 
but  after  a  little  time  they  subside.  One  sees  how  difficult  it  is  to 
draw  the  lines,  and  the  idea  of  suppressing  free  political  speech  is 
too  much  against  the  fundamental  principles  of  the  American  de- 
mocracy. But  the  fundamental  principles  of  anarchism,  or  rather 
its  fundamental  confusions,  have  so  little  hope  of  influencing  the 
conservative  ideas  of  the  Americans,  that  there  need  be  no  fear  of 
anarchism  creeping  into  the  national  mind.  In  so  far  as  there  is 
any  such  problem  in  America,  it  is  connected  solely  with  the  ques- 
tion of  immigration.  Up  to  the  present  time,  the  government  has 
been  content  to  forbid  acknowledged  anarchists  to  land;  but  this 
involves  such  an  un-American  intermeddling  with  private  con- 
victions that  the  regulation  will  hardly  be  tolerated  much  longer. 
The  true  American,  in  any  case,  believes  in  state  ordinances  and 
loves  his  governmental  machinery. 

This  apparatus  itself  of  government  has  many  details  which 
offer  problems,  indeed,  and  are  much  discussed.  Some  of  its  ele- 
ments have  been  added  recently  by  President  Roosevelt;  the  most 
important  of  them  is  the  newly  created  Department  of  Commerce 
and  Labour.  This  new  division  of  the  government,  with  over  ten 
thousand  officials,  embraces  also  the  Bureau  of  Corporations, 


186  THE  AMERICANS 

which  is  designed  to  collect  statistics  regarding  trusts  and  the 
overcoming  of  their  influence;  but  the  struggle  promises  to  be  a 
two-sided  one.  To  the  present  administration  belongs  also  the 
creation  of  a  general  staff  for  the  Army,  and  on  this  head  there 
seems  to  be  a  unanimous  opinion  that  the  Army  is  distinctly  bene- 
fited by  the  measure.  In  some  other  directions,  moreover,  the 
make-up  of  the  Army  has  become  more  similar  to  European  mod- 
els; new  schools  of  war  have  been  founded  and  the  plan  of  hold- 
ing great  manoeuvres  introduced.  The  weakness  of  the  military 
system  is  that  preferments  go  according  to  seniority.  It  is  clear 
to  all  that  a  merely  mechanical  advancement  of  officers  is  not 
advantageous  to  the  military  service;  and  yet  everybody  is  afraid, 
if  the  uniform  principle  is  given  up  and  personal  preferment  is 
introduced,  that  all  sorts  of  regrettable  political  and  social  influ- 
ences will  be  brought  to  bear  in  the  matter.  Many  persons  see  a 
difficult  problem  here;  the  young  officer  has  almost  no  incentive 
to-day  to  special  exertions. 

The  government  has  more  and  various  plans  with  regard  to  the 
Navy.  There,  too,  it  seems  as  if  a  general  staff  similar  to  that  of 
the  Army  is  indispensable.  The  steady  growth  of  the  Navy  itself 
is  assured,  since  every  one  recognizes  that  America  could  not  carry 
out  its  present  policy  without  a  strong  fleet.  The  fleet,  which 
dates  virtually  from  1882,  won  the  hearts  of  the  imperialistic  pub- 
lic by  its  victories  at  Manila  and  Santiago;  and  its  growth  is  no- 
where seriously  opposed.  Likewise,  the  Navy  is  introducing  more 
large  manoeuvres.  The  real  difficulty  lies  in  lack  of  men;  it  be- 
comes more  and  more  difficult  to  get  officers  and  sailors;  and  even 
in  the  question  of  manning  a  ship,  the  inevitable  negro  question 
plays  a  part. 

There  are  many  open  questions  also  in  regard  to  the  diplomatic 
and  consular  service.  The  United  States  maintains  an  uncom- 
monly large  number  of  consuls,  whose  enterprise  is  nowhere  con- 
tested, but  whose  preparation,  tact,  and  personal  integrity  often 
leave  a  good  deal  to  be  desired.  Their  remuneration  through  fees 
contributes  a  good  deal  toward  creating  unwholesome  conditions. 
The  personnel  of  the  diplomatic  service  is  perhaps  still  more  un- 
equal than  that  of  the  consular.  Since  early  times  the  United 
States  has  had  the  discernment  to  send  some  of  its  most  distin- 
guished men  to  fill  important  ambassadorial  positions.  At  a  time 


INTERNAL  PROBLEMS  187 

when  the  international  relations  of  the  country  were  still  insignifi- 
cant, such  a  position  was  often  given  to  distinguished  authors  and 
poets,  who  represented  their  country  at  a  foreign  court  in  an  intel- 
lectual and  cultivated  way,  and  contributed  much  to  its  esteem. 
This  can  happen  no  longer,  and  yet  America  has  had  again  and 
again  the  good  fortune  to  send  to  diplomatic  positions  men  of  un- 
common caliber;  scholars  like  Andrew  D.  White,  statesmen  like 
John  Hay,  and  brilliant  jurists  like  Choate.  The  danger  still  sub- 
sists, however,  that  men  who  are  merely  rich,  and  who  have  done 
small  services  to  Senators,  expect  in  return  a  diplomatic  appoint- 
ment, for  the  sake  of  the  social  glory.  There  is  a  growing  desire 
to  make  the  diplomatic  service  a  regular  career,  in  which  a  man 
progresses  step  by  step. 

As  to  the  postal  service,  the  foremost  problem  is  now  that  of 
free  delivery  in  rural  districts.  The  tremendous  extent  of  the 
country  and  the  thinness  of  its  population  had  at  first  made  it  a 
matter  of  course  that  the  farmer  should  fetch  his  own  mail  from 
the  nearest  village.  The  rural  letter-carrier  was  unknown,  as  he 
is  still  unknown  in  small  towns;  every  man  in  the  village  goes  to 
the  post-office  to  get  his  newspapers  and  letters.  But  like  every 
country  at  the  present  time,  the  United  States  is  trying  to  check 
the  continual  afflux  of  population  into  the  cities.  It  is  obvious 
that  specially  with  the  intellectual  make-up  of  the  American,  every 
effort  must  be  made  to  make  rural  life  less  monotonous  and  tire- 
some, and  that  it  is  necessary  most  of  all  to  establish  ready  com- 
munication between  the  remote  farm-houses  and  the  rest  of  the 
world.  The  more  frequently  and  easily  the  farming  people  re- 
ceive their  letters  and  magazines,  so  much  the  less  do  they  feel 
tempted  to  leave  the  soil.  For  this  reason  the  very  expensive 
rural  delivery  has  spread  rapidly.  In  the  last  year  nine  thousand 
new  appointments  were  made  in  this  service.  Another  impor- 
tant problem  connected  with  the  Post-Office  is  the  fact  that  it  does 
not  pay  for  itself,  because  it  carries  printed  matter  at  unprofitably 
low  rates,  and  in  this  way  has  stimulated  to  an  extraordinary 
degree  the  sending  of  catalogues  and  advertising  matter.  One 
can  see  how  far  this  goes  from  the  fact  that  a  short  time  ago  a  fac- 
tory for  medicine  sent  out  so  many  copies  of  a  booklet  advertising 
its  specific  through  the  so-called  "testimonials,"  that  a  railway 
train  with  eight  large  freight  cars  was  necessary  to  carry  them  to 


i88  THE  AMERICANS 

the  nearest  post-office.  Part  of  the  difficulty  comes  from  the  pri- 
vate ownership  of  the  railroads,  whose  contracts  with  the  gov- 
ernment for  carrying  the  mails  involve  certainly  no  loss  to  the 
stockholders. 

In  similar  wise,  all  of  the  great  departments  of  government  have 
their  problems,  large  or  small,  and  the  most  important  of  these 
must  be  dealt  with  when  we  come  to  speak  of  the  economic  situa- 
tion. But  there  is  one  problem  that  is  common  to  all  branches  of 
the  government;  it  is  the  most  important  one  which  concerns  in- 
ternal affairs,  and  although  it  is  discussed  somewhat  less  actively 
to-day  than  in  former  years,  it  continues  none  the  less  in  some 
new  form  or  other  to  worry  the  parties,  the  government,  and  more 
especially  public  opinion.  It  is  the  question  of  civil-service 
reform. 

We  have  touched  on  this  question  before  when  we  spoke  of  the 
struggles  between  parties,  and  of  the  motives  which  bring  the  in- 
dividual into  the  party  service.  Some  things  remain  to  be  said  by 
way  of  completely  elucidating  one  of  the  most  important  problems 
of  American  public  life.  To  commence  with,  if  we  abstract  from 
the  civil  service  in  city  and  state  —  although  the  question  is  much 
the  same  there  —  that  is,  if  we  take  into  account  only  the  federal 
service  —  we  find  over  a  hundred  thousand  official  appointments: 
and  the  question  is  —  Shall  these  appointments,  with  their  as- 
sured salaries,  be  distributed  to  adherents  of  the  party  in  power, 
chiefly  with  reference  to  their  services  to  the  party,  or  shall  these 
positions  be  removed  from  all  touch  with  the  parties  and  given  to 
the  best  and  ablest  applicants  ?  It  is  clear  that  the  problem  could 
easily  be  so  exhibited  that  the  appointment  of  the  best  and  most 
capable  applicant,  without  reference  to  his  party,  should  seem  to 
be  absolutely  and  unequivocally  necessary,  and  as  if  any  other 
opinion  could  proceed  only  from  the  desire  to  work  corruption. 
The  situation  is  not  quite  so  simple,  however. 

In  the  first  place,  every  one  is  aware  that  the  highest  adminis- 
trative positions  are  invariably  places  of  confidence,  where  it  is 
very  necessary  that  the  incumbent  shall  be  one  in  thought  and 
purpose  with  the  Executive;  and  this  is  more  than  ever  necessary 
in  a  democracy  composed  of  two  parties.  If  the  majority  of  the 
people  elects  a  certain  President  in  order  to  carry  out  the  convic- 
tions of  one  party  in  opposition  to  the  other,  the  will  of  the  people 


INTERNAL  PROBLEMS  i89 

would  be  frustrated  if  the  upper  members  of  the  governmental 
staffs  were  not  to  be  imbued  with  the  same  party  ideas.  A  Repub- 
lican President  could  not  work  together  with  a  Democratic  Secre- 
tary of  State  without  sacrificing  the  efficiency  of  his  administra- 
tion, and  struggling  along  on  such  compromises  as  would  ulti- 
mately make  meaningless  the  existence  of  two  organized  parties. 
A  Republican  Secretary  of  State  must  have,  however,  if  he  is  to  be 
spared  a  good  deal  of  friction,  an  assistant  secretary  of  state  with 
whom  he  is  politically  in  harmony;  and  so  it  goes  on  down. 

But  if  we  begin  at  the  bottom  and  work  up,  the  situation  looks 
different.  The  book-keeper  to  the  ministry,  the  small  postal 
clerk,  or  the  messenger  boy  in  the  treasury,  has  no  opportunity  to 
realize  his  personal  convictions.  He  has  merely  his  regular  task 
to  perform,  and  is  not  immediately  concerned  whether  the  policy 
of  state  is  Republican  or  Democratic,  imperialistic  or  anti-impe- 
rialistic. We  have  then  to  ask  —  Where  lie  the  boundaries  between 
those  higher  positions  in  which  the  private  convictions  of  the  in- 
cumbents ought  properly  to  be  with  the  administration,  and  those 
lower  positions  where  party  questions  are  in  no  way  involved  ? 

Opinions  vary  very  widely  as  to  where  this  boundary  lies. 
Some  put  it  rather  low,  and  insist  that  the  American  by  his  whole 
political  training  is  so  thoroughly  a  creature  of  the  party,  that  true 
harmony  in  state  offices  can  be  had  only  if  the  whole  service  from 
top  to  bottom  is  peopled  with  adherents  of  the  ruling  party;  and 
this  opinion,  although  it  may  be  refuted  on  good  grounds,  is 
neither  absurd  nor  dishonest.  The  population  of  Germany  is 
divided  to-day  into  a  civil  and  a  social-democratic  party,  and  it 
appears  to  the  dominant  civil  party  by  no  means  unnatural  to 
exclude  the  social-democrats  so  far  as  possible  from  participation 
in  the  public  service. 

It  is  quite  possible,  moreover,  for  each  party  to  furnish  compe- 
tent incumbents  for  all  the  leading  positions;  and  so  long  as  capa- 
ble men  can  be  found  who  will  acquit  themselves  well  in  office, 
there  is  of  course  no  reason  for  charging  the  party  with  greed  or 
spoils-gathering,  as  if  the  public  funds  were  a  pure  gift,  and  it  were 
unworthy  to  accept  an  official  appointment  given  in  recognition 
of  services  to  the  party.  We  have  already  emphasized  how  ex- 
tremely German  conceptions  differ  from  American  on  this  point, 
and  how  the  customary  reiteration  in  Germany  of  the  unfavour- 


i9o  THE  AMERICANS 

able  comments  made  by  certain  American  reform  enthusiasts, 
leads  to  much  misunderstanding.  It  is  well-known  that  Germany 
has,  for  instance,  for  the  university  professors  a  system  of  state  ap- 
pointment, which  rests  wholly  on  personal  recommendation;  this 
in  sharp  contrast  to  England,  where  the  candidates  for  every 
vacant  chair  must  compete,  and  where  no  one  can  be  called  who 
does  not  compete;  or  with  France,  where  the  positions  are  awarded 
on  the  basis  of  an  examination. 

The  considerations  which  we  have  stated  are  not  at  all  to  be 
taken  as  an  argument  against  civil-service  reform,  but  only  as  an 
indication  that  the  problem  is  complicated  and  has  its  pros  and 
cons.  In  fact,  the  grounds  for  the  widest  possible  extension  of  a 
civil-service  independent  of  party  are  many  and  urgent.  In  the  first 
place,  the  service  itself  demands  it.  The  appointments  by  party 
are  really  appointments  on  the  basis  of  recommendations  and 
wishes  of  political  leaders.  The  Senators,  for  instance,  from  a  cer- 
tain state  advise  the  President  as  to  who  should  be  appointed  for 
postmasters  in  the  most  important  post-offices;  and  the  smaller 
positions  are  similarly  filled  on  the  recommendation  of  less  influ- 
ential politicians. 

Therefore,  it  is  only  to  a  limited  extent  that  there  is  any  real 
estimation  of  the  capacity  and  fitness  of  the  proposed  incumbent. 
Public  opinion  is  always  watchful,  however,  and  the  politician  is 
generally  afraid  to  press  an  appointment  which  he  knows  would  be 
disapproved  by  public  opinion,  or  which  would  later  be  seen  to  be 
absurd,  would  damage  his  own  political  credit,  and  perhaps  even 
wreck  his  political  future. 

It  is  equally  true  that  the  political  parties  have  become  expert 
in  sifting  human  material  and  finding  just  the  right  people  for  the 
places;  and  that,  moreover,  the  American  with  his  extraordinary 
capacity  for  adaptation  and  organization  easily  finds  himself  at 
home  in  any  position  and  fills  it  creditably.  And  yet  it  remains, 
that  in  this  way  the  best  intentioned  appointer  works  in  the  dark, 
and  that  a  technical  examination  would  more  accurately  select 
the  fittest  man  from  among  the  various  candidates. 

Most  of  all,  by  this  method  of  appointment  on  the  ground  of 
political  influence,  where  the  petitions  of  the  incumbent's  local 
friends,  commendatory  letters  from  well-known  men,  and  the 
thousand  devices  of  the  wire-puller  play  an  important  part,  the 


INTERNAL  PROBLEMS 

feeling  of  individual  responsibility  is  always  largely  lost.  The  head 
of  the  department  must  rely  on  local  representatives,  and  these 
politicians  again  know  that  they  do  not  themselves  actually  make 
the  appointments;  and  the  candidate  is  put  into  office  with  no 
exertion  on  his  own  part  —  almost  passively. 

It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  in  this  way  many  an  unworthy  man 
has  come  to  office.  The  very  lowest  political  services  have  been 
rewarded  with  the  best  positions.  Political  candidates  have  had 
to  promise  before  their  election  to  make  certain  appointments  to 
office  which  had  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  the  fitness  of  the  ap- 
pointee; and  such  appointee,  when  actually  instated,  has  not  only 
neglected  his  office,  but  sometimes  criminally  misused  it  for  embez- 
zlement and  fraudulent  contracts,  for  government  deals  in  which 
he  has  had  some  personal  advantage,  or  for  the  smuggling  in  of 
friends  and  relatives  to  inferior  positions.  Politicians  have  too  often 
sought  to  exact  all  sorts  of  devious  personal  and  political  services 
from  those  whom  they  have  previously  recommended  for  office  in 
order  to  hush  them  up.  Through  the  intrigues  of  such  men  all  sorts 
of  unnecessary  positions  have  been  created,  in  order  to  provide 
for  political  friends  from  the  public  treasury;  and  the  contest 
for  these  personal  nominations  has  consumed  untold  time  and 
strength  in  the  legislative  chambers.  No  one  can  fail  to  see  that 
such  sores  will  develop  over  and  over  in  the  political  organism  so 
long  as  the  principle  is  recognized  of  making  official  appoint- 
ments on  the  basis  of  party  allegiance.  While  criminal  misuse  of 
such  a  practice  is  the  exception,  and  the  honourable  endeavour  to 
pick  out  the  best  candidates  and  their  honest  performance  of  duty 
are  the  rule,  nevertheless  every  thoughtful  friend  of  the  country's 
welfare  must  wish  to  make  all  such  exceptions  impossible. 

There  is  another  unfavourable  effect  which  such  a  system  must 
have,  within  the  party  itself.  A  man  who  is  put  into  office  by  poli- 
ticians, unless  he  is  a  strong  man,  will  labour  in  the  interests  of  his 
benefactors,  will  carry  party  politics  into  places  where  they  do  not 
belong,  and  be  ready  to  let  the  party  rob  him  of  2  certain  portion 
of  his  salary  as  a  contribution  to  the  party  treasury,  as  has  been 
customary  for  a  long  time.  In  this  way  salaries  have  been  in- 
creased in  order  that  a  considerable  portion  might  redound  to 
the  party  treasury,  and  thus  the  means  be  won  for  bringing  the 
party  victoriously  through  the  next  elections;  and  in  this  way  the 


i92  THE  AMERICANS 

official  has  been  able  to  assure  himself  as  good  an  office,  or  per- 
haps a  better  one,  in  the  future.  The  same  thing  happens  once 
more  in  city  politics  where  the  funds  levied  on  city  officials  have 
made  a  considerable  share  of  the  party's  assets.  There  has  been 
good  reason,  therefore,  why  public  opinion  has  for  a  long  time 
demanded,  and  with  increasing  energy,  an  entire  change  in  such  a 
state  of  things;  and  aside  from  the  positions  of  actual  confidence, 
in  which  in  fact  only  men  of  a  certain  political  faith  could  be  of 
any  service,  it  has  demanded  that  public  offices  be  put  on  a  non- 
partisan  basis  and  given  out  with  a  view  solely  to  the  efficiency  of 
the  appointee. 

Such  a  problem  hardly  existed  during  the  first  forty  years  of 
American  constitutional  government;  officials  were  appointed  in 
a  business-like  way.  A  man  in  office  stayed  there  as  long  as 
he  did  his  duties  well,  and  the  advent  of  a  new  party  in  the  higher 
positions  had  very  little  influence  on  the  lower  ones.  It  was 
deemed  tyranny  to  dismiss  a  competent  official  in  order  to  put  a 
party  adherent  in  his  position.  The  statistics  show  that  at  that 
time  not  more  than  forty-two  changes  on  the  average  were  made 
on  such  political  grounds  every  year.  The  opposite  practice  first 
arose  in  the  cities,  and  especially  in  New  York,  whence  it  spread 
to  the  state,  where  in  1818  a  whole  regiment  of  party  followers  was 
established  in  the  government  offices  of  the  state  by  Van  Buren. 
And  under  President  Jackson  the  principle  finally  became  adopted 
in  the  federal  government.  About  the  year  1830,  it  became  an  un- 
written law  that  official  positions  should  be  the  spoils  of  victory  at 
the  elections  and  go  to  the  favoured  party.  People  were  aware 
that  there  was  no  better  way  of  getting  party  adherents  to  be 
industrious  than  to  promise  them  positions  if  they  would  help  the 
party  to  gain  its  victory.  The  reaction  commenced  at  about  the 
middle  of  the  last  century,  closely  following  on  a  similar  move- 
ment in  England. 

As  the  power  of  the  English  Parliament  grew,  popular  repre- 
sentatives had  demanded  their  share  in  the  distributing  of  offices, 
and  an  obnoxious  trading  in  salaries  had  become  prevalent. 
When  at  last  the  abuses  became  too  frequent,  just  before  the 
middle  of  the  last  century,  England  instituted  official  examina- 
tions in  order  to  weed  out  the  obviously  unfit  candidates.  It  was 
not  really  a  true  competition,  since  the  candidate  was  still  ap- 


INTERNAL  PROBLEMS  193 

pointed  to  office  by  the  politicians.  But  the  examination  made 
sure  of  a  minimal  amount  of  proper  training. 

The  American  Congress  followed  this  example  during  the  fifties. 
Certain  groups  of  minor  positions  were  made,  for  which  appoint- 
ment could  be  had  only  after  an  examination.  England  now 
went  further  on  the  same  course,  and  America  followed  her  lead. 
On  both  sides  of  the  ocean  the  insignificant  examination  of  the 
candidate  who  had  backing,  became  a  general  examination  for 
all  who  wished  to  apply;  so  that  the  position  came  to  be  given  to 
the  best  candidate.  The  Civil-Service  Commission  was  instituted 
by  President  Grant,  and  for  thirty  years  its  beneficent  influence 
has  steadily  grown,  and  it  has  made  great  inroads  on  the  old 
system.  The  regular  politicians  who  could  not  endure  being 
deprived  of  the  positions  which  they  wished  to  pledge  to  their 
campaign  supporters  have  naturally  tried  time  after  time  to  stem 
the  current,  and  with  some  success.  In  1875  Congress  discon- 
tinued the  salaries  which  had  been  paid  the  Commissioners;  then 
competitive  examinations  were  given  up,  and  in  their  stead  single 
examinations  instituted  for  candidates  who  had  been  recom- 
mended by  political  influence. 

But  here,  if  anywhere,  public  opinion  has  been  stronger  than 
party  spirit.  Under  President  Hayes,  and  then  under  Garfield  and 
Arthur,  the  competitive  system  was  partly  reinstated,  and  while 
the  number  of  positions  which  were  open  only  to  those  who  had 
successfully  passed  the  public  examinations  increased,  at  the  same 
time  the  reprehensible  taxation  of  officials  for  party  ends  was 
finally  stopped.  This  did  not  prevent  a  certain  smaller  number 
of  positions  from  retaining  their  partisan  complexion;  and  the 
opinions  and  party  creed  of  these  incumbents  continued  to  be 
important,  so  that  whenever  one  party  succeeded  another,  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  change  was  still  necessary.  So  there  remain  two 
great  divisions  of  the  public  service  —  the  political  offices  which  the 
President  fills  by  appointment  in  co-operation  with  the  Senate,  and 
the  so-called  "classified"  offices  which  are  given  out  on  the  basis 
of  public  examinations.  Public  opinion  and  the  sincere  sup- 
porters of  civil-service  reform,  among  whom  is  President  Roose- 
velt himself,  are  working  all  the  time  for  an  increase  in  the  num- 
ber of  classified  positions  and  a  corresponding  decrease  in  the 
political  group. 


194  THE  AMERICANS 

The  open  opponents  of  this  movement,  of  whom  there  are  many 
in  both  parties,  are  hard  at  work  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  are 
too  often  supported  by  the  faint-hearted  friends  of  the  reform, 
who  recognize  its  theoretical  advantages,  but  have  some  practical 
benefit  to  derive  by  pursuing  the  methods  which  they  decry. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  again  in  the  last  ten  years  some  steps  have 
been  taken  backward,  and  on  various  pretexts  many  important 
positions  have  been  withdrawn  from  the  classified  service  and 
restored  to  Senatorial  patronage. 

The  actual  situation  is  as  follows.  There  are  114,000  non- 
classified  positions,  with  a  total  salary  of  $45,000,000,  and  121,000 
classified  positions  which  bring  a  salary  of  $85,000,000.  Among 
the  former,  where  no  competition  exists,  over  77,000  are  post- 
masterships;  then  there  are  consular,  diplomatic,  and  other  high 
positions,  and  a  large  number  of  places  for  labourers.  In  the 
classified  service,  there  are  17,000  positions  for  officials  who  live 
in  Washington,  5,000  of  which  are  in  the  treasury.  The  com- 
mittees on  the  commission  have  about  400  different  kinds  of 
examinations  to  give.  Last  year  47,075  persons  were  examined 
for  admission  to  the  civil  service;  21,000  of  these  for  the  govern- 
ment service,  3,000  for  the  customs,  and  21,000  for  the  postal 
service.  There  were  about  1,000  examinations  more  for  advance- 
ments in  office  and  exchange  from  one  part  of  the  service  to 
another,  and  439  persons  were  examined  for  service  in  the  Philip- 
pines. Out  of  all  these  applicants  33,739  passed  the  examina- 
tions, and  of  these  11,764  obtained  positions  which  are  theirs  for 
life,  independent  of  any  change  which  may  take  place  at  the  White 
House.  It  is  a  matter  of  course  that  the  security  which  these 
positions  give  of  life-long  employment  is  the  highest  incentive  to 
faithful  service  and  conscientious  and  industrious  labour. 

The  difference  between  the  two  services  was  again  clearly 
brought  out  in  the  last  great  scandal,  which  greatly  stirred  up  the 
federal  administration.  The  Post-Office  Department  had  closed  a 
number  of  contracts  for  certain  utensils  from  which  certain  officials, 
or  at  least  their  relatives,  made  considerable  profits.  Everything 
had  been  most  discreetly  hidden,  and  it  took  an  investigation 
of  several  months  to  uncover  the  crookedness.  But  when  every- 
thing had  come  out,  it  appeared  that  the  officials  who  were  seri- 
ously involved  all  belonged  to  the  unclassified  service,  while  the 


INTERNAL  PROBLEMS 

classified  service  of  the  Post-Office  was  found  to  be  an  admirable 
example  of  conscientious  and  faithful  office-holding.  Certain  it 
is  that  such  criminal  misuse,  even  among  the  confidential  posi- 
tions, is  a  rare  exception;  it  is  no  less  sure  that  the  temptations  are 
much  greater  there.  A  man  who  holds  office,  not  because  he  is 
peculiarly  fitted  for  it,  but  because  he  has  been  generally  useful  in 
politics,  knowing  as  he  does  that  the  next  time  the  parties  change 
places  his  term  of  office  will  be  up,  will  always  be  too  ready  to  use 
his  position  for  the  party  rather  than  for  the  country,  and  finally 
for  himself  and  his  pocket-book  rather  than  for  his  party. 

Now,  if  civil-service  reform  is  to  spread  or  even  to  take  no  steps 
backward,  public  opinion  must  be  armed  for  continual  battle 
against  party  politicians.  But  it  is  an  insult  to  the  country  when, 
as  too  often  happens,  some  one  tries  to  make  it  appear  that  the 
opponents  of  reform  are  consciously  corrupt.  The  difficulty  of 
the  problem  lies  just  in  the  fact  that  most  honourable  motives 
may  be  uppermost  on  both  sides;  and  one  has  to  recognize  this, 
although  one  may  be  convinced  that  the  reformer  has  the  better 
arguments  on  his  side.  The  filling  of  positions  by  party  adher- 
ents, as  a  reward  for  their  services,  puts  an  extraordinary  amount 
of  willing  labour  at  the  service  of  the  party.  And  undoubtedly 
t'ue  party  system  is  necessary  in  America,  and  demands  for  its  ex- 
istence just  such  a  tremendous  amount  of  work.  The  non-classi- 
fied positions  are  to  the  American  party  politicians  exactly  what 
the  orders  and  titles  which  he  can  award  are  to  the  European 
monarch;  and  the  dyed-in-the-wool  party  leader  would  in  all 
honesty  be  glad  to  throw  overboard  the  whole  "humbug"  of  civil- 
service  reform,  since  he  would  rather  see  his  party  victorious  —  that 
is,  his  party  principles  acknowledged  in  high  federal  places  —  than 
see  his  country  served  as  economically,  faithfully,  and  ably  as 
possible.  In  fact,  the  regular  party  politician  has  come  to  look  on 
the  frequent  shake-up  among  office-holders  as  an  ideal  condition. 
Just  as  no  President  can  be  elected  more  than  twice,  he  conceives 
it  to  be  unsound  and  un-American  to  leave  an  official  too  long  in 
any  one  position. 

The  full  significance  of  the  problem  comes  out  when  one 
realizes  that  the  same  is  true  once  more  in  the  separate  state,  and 
again  in  every  municipality.  The  states  and  cities  have  their 
classified  service,  appointment  to  which  is  independent  of  party 


196  THE  AMERICANS 

allegiance,  as  of  governor  or  mayor,  and  in  addition  to  this  confi- 
dential positions  for  which  the  governor  and  legislature  or  the 
mayor  and  city  council  are  responsible.  Municipal  service  has 
attracted  an' increasing  amount  of  public  attention  in  recent  years, 
owing  to  the  extremely  great  abuses  which  it  can  harbour. 

Fraudulent  contracts,  the  grant  of  handsome  monopolies  to 
street  railway,  gas,  electric-light,  telephone,  and  pier  companies, 
the  purchase  of  land  and  material  for  public  buildings,  and  the 
laying  out  of  new  streets  —  all  these  things,  owing  to  the  extra- 
ordinarily rapid  growth  of  municipalities,  afford  such  rich  oppor- 
tunities for  theft,  and  this  can  be  so  easily  hidden  from  the  state 
attorney,  that  frightfully  large  numbers  of  unscrupulous  people 
have  been  attracted  into  public  life.  And  the  more  that  purely 
municipal  politics  call  for  a  kind  of  party  service  which  is  very 
little  edifying  or  interesting  to  a  gentleman  in  frock  and  silk  hat, 
so  much  the  more  other  kinds  of  men  force  their  way  into  politics 
in  large  cities  and  get  control  of  the  popular  vote,  not  in  order  to 
support  certain  principles,  but  to  secure  for  themselves  positions 
from  the  winning  party,  of  which  the  salary  is  worth  something 
and  the  dishonest  perquisites  may  be  "worth"  a  great  deal  more. 
Even  here  again  the  service  to  the  city  is  not  necessarily  bad,  and 
certainly  not  so  bad  as  the  scandal-mongering  press  of  the  opposite 
party  generally  represents  it.  Most  of  the  office-holders  are 
decent  people,  who  are  contented  with  the  moderate  salary  and 
modest  social  honour  of  their  positions.  Nevertheless,  a  good 
deal  that  is  impure  does  creep  in,  and  the  service  would  be  more 
efficient  if  it  could  be  made  independent  of  the  party  machine. 
Public  opinion  is  sure  of  this. 

Each  party  is  naturally  convinced  that  the  greatest  blame  be- 
longs with  the  other,  and  in  strict  logic  one  can  no  more  accuse 
one  party  of  corruption  than  the  other.  The  Republican  party  in 
a  certain  sense  whets  the  general  instinct  for  greed  more  than  the 
Democratic,  so  that  its  opponents  like  to  call  it  "the  mother  of 
corruption."  It  is  a  part  of  the  Republican  confession  of  faith,  in 
consequence  of  its  centralizing  spirit,  that  the  state  cannot  leave 
everything  to  free  competition,  but  must  itself  exert  a  regulating 
influence;  thus  the  Republican  does  not  believe  in  free-trade,  and 
he  thinks  it  quite  right  for  an  industry  or  any  economic  enterprise 
which  is  going  badly,  or  which  fancies  that  it  is  not  prospering 


INTERNAL  PROBLEMS 

enough,  or  which  for  any  reason  at  all  would  like  to  make  more 
money,  to  apply  to  the  state  for  protection,  and  to  be  favoured  at 
the  expense  of  the  rest  of  the  community.  The  principle  of  com- 
plete equality  is  here  lost,  and  the  spirit  of  preference,  of  favours 
for  the  few  against  the  many,  and  of  the  employment  of  public 
credit  for  the  advantage  of  the  avaricious,  is  virtually  recognized. 
And  when  this  spirit  has  once  spread  and  gone  through  all  party 
life,  there  is  no  way  of  preventing  a  situation  in  which  every  one 
applies  to  the  public  funds  for  his  own  enrichment,  and  the  strong- 
est industries  secure  monopolies  and  influence  the  legislatures  in 
their  favour  by  every  means  which  the  party  has  at  its  disposal. 

The  Democrats,  on  the  other  hand,  desire  equal  rights  for  all, 
and  free  competition  between  all  economic  enterprises;  they  ap- 
prove of  all  centrifugal  and  individualistic  tendencies.  And  yet 
if  the  state  does  not  exert  some  regulative  influence,  the  less  moral 
elements  of  society  will  misuse  their  freedom,  and  they  will  be  freer 
in  the  end  than  the  citizens  who  scrupulously  and  strictly  govern 
themselves.  And  the  spirit  of  unrestraint  and  immorality  will  be 
ever  more  in  evidence.  The  Democratic  party  will  be  forced  to 
make  concessions  to  this  idea  if  it  desires  to  retain  its  domination 
over  the  masses,  and  any  one  who  first  begins  to  make  concessions 
to  individual  crookedness  is  necessarily  inoculated.  Thus  it 
happens  that  in  the  Republican  party  there  is  a  tendency  to  in- 
troduce corruption  from  above,  and  in  the  Democratic  party 
from  below. 

If  in  a  large  town,  say,  the  Republican  party  is  dominant,  the 
chief  public  enemies  will  be  the  industrial  corporations,  with 
their  tremendous  means  and  their  watered  securities;  but  if  the 
Democratic  party  is  uppermost,  the  worst  enemies  will  be  the 
liquor  dealers,  procurers,  and  gamblers.  Correspondingly,  in 
the  former  case,  the  honour  of  the  city  council  which  closes  huge 
contracts  with  stock  companies  will  succumb,  while  in  the  latter  it 
will  be  the  conscience  of  the  policeman  on  the  corner  who  pock- 
ets a  little  consideration  when  the  bar-keeper  wants  to  keep  open 
beyond  the  legal  hour.  And  since  the  temptation  to  take  small 
bribes  are  ten  thousand  times  more  frequent  than  the  chances  for 
graft  on  a  large  scale,  the  total  damage  to  public  morals  is  about 
the  same  in  both  cases.  But  we  must  repeat  once  more  that  these 
delinquencies  are  after  all  the  exception  rather  than  the  rule,  and 


i98  THE  AMERICANS 

happily  are  for  the  most  part  expiated  behind  the  bars  of  a  peni- 
tentiary. 

Most  of  all,  it  must  be  insisted  that  public  opinion  is  all  the  time 
following  up  these  excrescences  on  party  life,  and  that  public  opin- 
ion presses  forward  year  by  year  at  an  absolutely  sure  pace,  and 
purifies  the  public  atmosphere.  All  these  evil  conditions  are  easy 
to  change.  When  Franklin  came  to  England  he  was  alarmed  to 
see  what  fearful  corruptions  prevailed  in  English  official  life;  such 
a  thing  was  unknown  at  that  time  in  America.  Now  England 
has  long  ago  wiped  out  the  blot,  and  America,  which  fell  into  its 
political  mire  a  half-century  later,  will  soon  be  out  again  and  free; 
just  as  it  has  got  rid  of  other  nuisances.  Every  year  brings  some 
advance,  and  the  student  of  American  conditions  should  not  let 
himself  be  deceived  by  appearances. 

On  the  surface,  for  instance,  the  last  mayoralty  election  in  New 
York  City  would  seem  to  indicate  a  downward  tendency.  New 
York  two  years  previously  had  turned  out  the  scandalous  Tam- 
many Hall  gang  with  Van  Wyck  and  his  brutal  extortionist,  Chief 
of  Police  Devery,  by  a  non-partisan  alliance  of  all  decent  people 
in  the  city.  New  York  had  elected  by  a  handsome  majority 
Seth  Low,  the  President  of  Columbia  University,  to  be  its  mayor, 
and  thereby  had  instated  the  principle  that,  the  best  municipal 
government  must  use  only  business  methods  and  be  independent 
of  political  parties.  Seth  Low  was  supported  by  distinguished 
reformers  in  both  parties,  and  was  brilliantly  successful  in  placing 
the  entire  city  government  on  a  distinctly  higher  level.  The  pub- 
lic schools,  the  general  hygiene,  the  highways,  and  the  police  force 
were  all  thoroughly  cleansed  of  impure  elements  and  reformed 
without  regard  to  party,  on  the  purest  and  most  business-like 
principle. 

And  then  came  the  day  for  another  election.  Once  more  the 
independent  voters,  including  the  best  men  in  both  parties,  the 
intellectual  leaders  and  the  socially  dominant  forces  of  the  city, 
were  banded  together  again  to  save  their  city  of  three  million 
inhabitants  from  party  politics,  and  to  insure  by  their  co-opera- 
tion a  continuance  of  the  honest,  business-like  administration. 
They  made  Seth  Low  their  candidate  again;  he  was  opposed  by 
McClellan,  the  candidate  of  Tammany  Hall,  the  party  which 
loudly  declares  that  "To  the  victors  belong  the  spoils,"  and  that 


INTERNAL  PROBLEMS  199 

the  thousands  of  municipal  offices  are  to  be  the  prey  of  party 
adherents.  This  was  the  candidate  of  the  party  which  admitted 
that  all  the  hopes  of  the  worst  proletariat,  of  prostitution  and 
vagabondage,  depended  on  its  success;  the  candidate  of  a  party 
which  declared  that  it  would  everywhere  rekindle  the  "red  light," 
that  it  would  not  enforce  the  unpopular  temperance  laws,  and 
that  it  would  leave  the  city  "wide  open."  On  the  day  of  election 
251,000  votes  were  cast  for  Mayor  Low,  but  313,000  for  Colonel 
McClellan. 

Now,  does  this  really  indicate  that  the  majority  of  the  city  of 
New  York  consists  of  gamblers,  extortioners,  and  criminals  ?  One 
who  read  the  Republican  campaign  literature  issued  before  the 
election  might  suppose  so.  After  reading  on  every  street  corner  and 
fence  and  on  giant  banners  the  campaign  cry,  "Vote  for  Low  and 
keep  the  grafters  out,"  one  might  think  that  300,000  pick-pockets 
had  united  to  force  out  a  clean  administration  and  to  place  cor- 
ruption on  the  throne.  But  on  looking  more  closely  at  the  situ- 
ation one  must  see  that  no  such  thing  was  in  question.  Seth  Low 
had  furnished  a  clean  administration,  yet  not  a  perfect  one,  and  his 
mistakes  had  so  seriously  disaffected  many  citizens  that  they  would 
rather  endure  the  corruption  of  Tammany  Hall  than  the  brusque- 
ness  and  various  aggravations  which  threatened  from  his  side. 

Of  these  grievances,  a  typical  one  was  the  limitation  of  German 
instruction  in  the  public  schools.  From  the  pedagogical  point  of 
view,  this  was  not  wholly  wrong;  and  leading  educationists,  even 
German  ones,  had  recommended  the  step.  But  at  the  same  time 
the  great  German  population  was  bitterly'offended,  and  the  whole 
discussions  of  the  school  board  had  angered  the  German  citizens 
enough  to  cool  off  considerably  their  enthusiasm  for  reform. 
Then  on  top  of  this,  Low's  administration  had  rigorously  enforced 
certain  laws  of  Sunday  observance  which  the  German  part  of  the 
population  cordially  hated.  Here,  too,  Mayor  Low  was  undoubt- 
edly right;  he  was  enforcing  the  law;  but  when  two  years  pre- 
viously he  had  wished  to  win  over  the  German  vote,  he  had  prom- 
ised more  than  he  could  fulfill.  But,  most  of  all,  Seth  Low  was 
socially  an  aristocrat,  who  had  no  common  feeling  with  the  masses; 
and  whenever  he  spoke  in  popular  assemblies  he  displayed  no 
magnetism.  Every  one  felt  too  keenly  that  he  looked  down  on 
them  from  his  exalted  social  height. 


2oo  THE  AMERICANS 

Against  him  were  the  Tammany  people,  of  whom  at  least  one 
thing  must  be  said:  they  know  the  people  and  their  needs.  They 
have  grown  up  among  the  people.  In  contrast  to  many  a  Repub- 
lican upstart  who,  according  to  the  European  fashion,  is  servile 
to  his  superiors  and  harsh  with  his  inferiors,  these  Tammany  men 
are  harsh  to  their  superiors  —  that  is,  they  shake  the  nerves  of  the 
more  refined  —  but  are  servile  before  the  masses  and  comply  with 
every  wish.  And  most  of  all,  they  are  really  the  friends  of  the 
populace,  sincerely  true  and  helpful  to  it.  Moreover,  just  these 
great  masses  have  more  to  suffer  under  a  good  administration 
than  under  the  corrupt  government  which  lets  every  one  do  as  he 
likes.  These  people  do  not  notice  that  the  strict,  hygienic  admin- 
istration reduced  the  death-rate  and  the  list  of  casualties,  and  im- 
proved the  public  schools;  but  they  notice  when  for  such  im- 
provements they  have  to  pay  a  cent  more  in  taxation,  or  have  to 
put  safer  staircases  or  fire-escapes  on  their  houses,  or  to  abandon 
tottering  structures,  or  if  they  are  not  allowed  to  beg  without  a 
permit,  or  are  forbidden  to  throw  refuse  in  the  streets.  In  short, 
these  people  notice  a  slight  expense  or  an  insignificant  prohibi- 
tion, and  do  not  see  that  in  the  end  they  are  greatly  benefited. 
And  so,  when  the  day  of  reckoning  comes,  when  the  election  cam- 
paigns are  fought,  in  which  distinguished  reformers  deliver  schol- 
arly addresses  on  the  advantages  of  a  non-partisan  administration 
while  the  candidates  of  the  people  excite  them  with  promises  that 
they  shall  be  free  from  all  these  oppressive  burdens  —  it  is  no 
wonder  that  Seth  Low  is  not  returned  to  the  City  Hall,  and  that 
McClellan,  who  by  the  way  is  a  highly  educated  and  cultured 
politician,  is  entrusted  with  the  city  government. 

Such  an  outcome  is  not  a  triumph  for  vice  and  dishonour.  In 
two  years  the  reformers  will  probably  conquer  again,  since  every 
administration  makes  its  enemies  and  so  excites  opposition.  But 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  even  on  this  occasion  public  opinion, 
with  its  desire  to  reform,  has  triumphed,  although  the  official 
friends  of  reform  were  outdone;  such  a  man  as  the  former  Chief 
of  Police,  Devery,  will  be  impossible  in  the  future.  Public  opinion 
sees  to  it  that  when  the  two  parties  stand  in  opposition  the  fight 
is  fought  each  successive  time  on  a  higher  level.  And  Tammany 
of  to-day  as  compared  with  the  Tammany  of  years  gone  by  is  the 
best  evidence  for  the  victory  of  public  opinion  and  the  reformers. 


CHAPTER  TEN 

External  Political  Problems 

THE  attitude  of  America  in  international  affairs  can  hardly  be 
referred  to  any  one  special  trait  of  mind.  If  one  were  to  seek 
a  simple  formula,  one  would  have  to  recognize  in  it  a  certain 
antithesis  of  mood;  an  opposition  which  one  encounters  in  the 
American  people  under  the  most  varied  circumstances,  and  which 
perhaps  depends  on  the  fact  that  it  is  a  people  which  has  devel- 
oped an  entirely  new  culture,  although  on  the  basis  of  the  high 
culture  of  the  Old  World.  When  we  come  to  speak  of  American 
intellectual  life  we  shall  have  again  to  consider  this  extraordinary 
combination  of  traits.  The  people  are  youthful  and  yet  mature; 
they  are  fresher  and  more  spontaneous  than  those  of  other  mature 
nations,  and  wiser  and  more  mature  than  those  of  other  youthful 
nations;  and  thus  it  is  that  in  the  attitude  of  the  Americans  toward 
foreign  affairs  the  love  of  peace  and  the  delight  in  war  combine  to 
make  a  contrast  which  has  rarely  been  seen.  Doubtless  there  is  an 
apparent  contradiction  here,  but  this  contradiction  is  the  historical 
mark  of  the  national  American  temperament;  and  it  is  not  to  be 
supposed  that  the  contradiction  is  solved  by  ascribing  these  di- 
verse opinions  to  diverse  elements  in  the  population,  by  saying, 
for  instance,  that  one  group  of  citizens  is  more  warlike,  another 
more  peaceable;  that  perhaps  the  love  of  hostile  interference 
springs  from  the  easily  excited  masses,  while  the  love  of  peace  is 
to  be  sought  in  their  more  thoughtful  leaders,  or  that  perhaps,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  masses  are  peaceably  industrious  while  their 
leaders  draw  them  into  war. 

Such  is  not  at  all  the  case.  There  is  not  any  such  contrast 
between  the  masses  and  the  classes;  personal  differences  of  opin- 
ion there  are  and  some  individuals  are  more  volatile  than  others, 
but  the  craze  for  expansion  in  its  newest  form  finds  strong  sup- 


202  THE  AMERICANS 

porters  and  violent  opponents  in  all  parties  and  occupations. 
The  most  characteristic  feature  is,  that  just  those  who  show  the 
love  for  war  most  energetically  are  none  the  less  concerned,  and 
most  earnestly  so,  for  the  advance  of  peace.  President  Roosevelt 
is  the  most  striking  example  of  the  profound  combination  of  these 
opposing  tendencies  in  one  human  breast. 

Every  movement  toward  peace,  in  fact  every  international 
attempt  toward  doing  away  with  the  horrors  of  war,  has  found  in 
the  New  World  the  most  jealous  and  enthusiastic  supporters; 
whenever  two  nations  have  come  to  blows  the  sympathies  of  the 
Americans  have  always  been  on  the  side  of  the  weaker  nation,  no 
matter  which  seemed  to  be  the  side  of  justice.  And  the  mere 
circumstance  that  two  nations  have  gone  to  war  puts  the  stronger 
power  in  a  bad  light  in  the  eyes  of  America. 

The  nation  has  grown  strong  by  peaceful  industry;  its  greatest 
strength  has  lain  in  trade  and  the  arts,  its  best  population  has 
come  across  the  ocean  in  order  to  escape  the  military  burdens  of 
Europe;  and  the  policy  of  the  founders  of  the  Republic,  now  be- 
come a  tradition,  was  always  to  hold  aloof  from  any  dealings 
with  the  quarrelsome  continent  of  Europe.  During  the  short  time 
of  its  existence,  the  United  States  has  settled  forty-nine  inter- 
national disputes  in  a  peaceable  court  of  arbitration,  and  often- 
times these  have  been  in  extemely  important  matters;  and 
America  has  been  a  party  in  over  half  of  the  disputes  which  have 
been  settled  before  a  court  of  arbitration  in  recent  times.  Amer- 
ica was  an  important  participant  in  the  founding  of  the  Peace 
Tribunal  at  The  Hague.  When  negotiations  for  that  tribunal 
threatened  to  be  frustrated  by  the  opposing  nations  of  Europe, 
the  American  government  sent  its  representatives  to  the  very 
centre  of  the  opposition,  and  won  a  victory  for  the  side  of  peace. 

It  is  almost  a  matter  of  course  that  it  is  the  munificent  gift  of 
an  American  which  has  erected  a  palace  at  The  Hague  for  this 
international  Peace  Tribunal.  While  the  European  nations  are 
groaning  under  the  burden  of  their  standing  armies,  and  are 
weakened  by  wars  over  religious  matters  or  the  succession  of 
dynasties,  happy  America  knows  nothing  of  this;  her  pride  is  the 
freedom  of  her  citizens,  her  battles  are  fought  out  at  the  ballot- 
box.  The  disputes  between  sects  and  royal  houses  are  unknown 
in  the  New  World;  its  only  neighbours  are  two  oceans  on  the 


EXTERNAL  PROBLEMS  20$ 

east  and  west,  and  on  the  north  and  south  good  friends.  No  end 
of  progress  remains  to  be  made,  but  everything  works  together 
under  the  protection  of  the  American  Constitution  to  produce  a 
splendid  home  in  the  New  World  for  peace.  America  is  the  one 
world  power  which  makes  for  peace;  and  it  will  only  depend  on 
the  future  growth  of  this  nation,  which  has  been  ordained  to  be- 
come such  an  example,  whether  the  idea  of  peace  will  finally  pre- 
vail throughout  the  world  over  the  immoral  settlement  of  dis- 
putes by  mere  force  of  arms. 

All  this  is  not  merely  the  programme  of  a  party  or  of  a  group  of 
people,  but  the  confession  of  faith  of  every  American.  The 
American  finds  no  problem  here,  since  none  would  dispute  the 
contention.  It  has  all  impressed  itself  so  fully  on  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  American  people  that  it  gives  to  the  whole  nation  a  feel- 
ing of  moral  superiority.  Nor  is  this  merely  the  pathos  uttered 
in  moral  orations;  it  is  the  conviction  with  which  every  child 
grows  up  and  with  which  every  farmer  goes  to  his  plough,  every 
artisan  and  merchant  to  his  machine  and  desk,  and  the  President 
to  his  executive  chamber.  And  this  conviction  is  so  admirable 
that  it  has  always  been  contagious,  and  all  Europe  has  become 
quite  accustomed  to  considering  the  Republic  across  the  water  as 
the  firmest  partisan  of  peace.  The  Republic  has  in  fact  been  this, 
is  now,  and  always  will  be  so;  while  the  riddle  is  —  how  it  can  be 
such  a  friend  of  peace  when  it  was  conceived  in  war,  has  settled 
its  most  serious  problems  by  war,  has  gone  to  war  again  and 
again,  has  almost  played  with  declarations  of  war,  is  at  war  to- 
day, and  presumably  will  be  at  war  many  times  again. 

The  Spanish  war  has  shown  clearly  to  European  onlookers  the 
other  side  of  the  shield,  and  many  have  at  once  concluded  that 
the  boasted  American  love  of  peace  has  been  from  the  first  a  grand 
hypocrisy,  that  at  least  under  McKinley's  administration  an 
entirely  new  spirit  had  suddenly  seized  the  New  World.  But 
McKinley's  predecessor,  Cleveland,  in  the  disputes  arising  be- 
tween England  and  Venezuela,  had  waved  the  sabre  until  it  hissed 
so  loudly  that  it  was  not  at  all  due  to  the  American  love  of  peace 
but  rather  to  England's  preoccupation  in  the  Transvaal  which 
prevented  the  President's  message  and  the  national  love  of  inter- 
ference from  stirring  up  a  war.  And  it  is  now  several  years  since 
the  successor  of  McKinley  moved  into  the  White  House,  yet 


McKinley's  war  is  still  going  on;  for  although  a  war  has  never 
been  officially  declared  in  the  Philippines,  war  seems  the  only 
correct  name  for  the  condition  which  there  prevails. 

This  Philippine  question  is  a  real  political  problem.  That 
America  is  to  serve  the  interests  of  peace  is  certain;  every  one 
is  agreed  on  that;  and  the  great  majority  of  the  people  was 
also  enthusiastically  in  favour  of  ending  the  Spanish  misrule  in 
Cuba.  But  the  same  is  not  true  of  the  war  in  the  Philippines,  and 
becomes  less  true  every  day.  The  enthusiasts  have  subsided, 
the  masses  have  become  indifferent,  while  the  politicians  carry  on 
the  discussion;  and  since  it  is  a  question  of  motives  which  cannot 
be  put  aside  for  the  present,  and  which  at  any  time  may  so  excite 
the  nation  as  to  become  the  centre  of  political  discussion,  it  is  well 
worth  while  to  look  more  fully  into  these  points. 

The  imperialists  say  that  the  events  in  the  Pacific  Ocean  have 
followed  exactly  the  traditions  of  the  land;  that  expansion  has 
always  been  a  fundamental  instinct  of  the  nation;  that  its  whole 
development  shows  that  from  the  day  when  the  Union  was 
founded  it  commenced  to  increase  its  territory.  The  tremen- 
dous expansion  gained  by  the  purchase  of  Louisiana  was  followed 
by  the  annexation  of  Florida,  and  still  later  by  that  of  the  great 
tract  called  Texas.  In  the  war  with  Mexico  the  region  between 
Texas  and  California  was  acquired.  Alaska  was  next  gathered  in. 
The  narrow  strip  originally  occupied  by  the  Thirteen  States  be- 
came a  huge  country  within  a  century,  and  thus  the  nation  sim- 
ply remains  true  to  its  traditions  in  stretching  out  over  the  ocean 
and  carrying  the  Stars  and  Stripes  toward  Asia. 

To  this  the  anti-imperialists  reply,  on  the  contrary,  that  the 
United  States  is  repudiating  an  honourable  history  and  tram- 
pling down  that  which  has  been  sacred  for  centuries.  For  if  there 
has  been  any  underlying  principle  at  all  to  guide  the  United 
States  in  moments  of  perplexity,  it  has  been  a  firm  faith  in  the 
rights  of  people  to  govern  themselves.  The  United  States  has 
never  exchanged  or  acquired  a  foot  of  land  without  the  consent 
of  those  who  dwelt  thereon.  Where  such  lands  have  held  noth- 
ing but  the  scattered  dwellings  of  isolated  colonists  there  existed 
no  national  consent  to  be  consulted,  and  where  there  were  no 
people  no  national  self-government  could  come  in  question; 
neither  Louisiana,  California,  nor  Alaska  was  settled  by  a  real 


EXTERNAL  PROBLEMS  205 

nation,  and  Texas  had  of  itself  decided  to  become  independent 
of  Mexico.  But  the  Philippines  are  inhabited  by  ten  million 
people,  with  striking  national  traits  and  an  organized  will;  and 
the  United  States,  for  the  first  time  in  history,  now  misuses  its 
strength  by  oppressing  another  nation  and  forcing  its  own  will 
on  a  prostrate  people. 

Now  the  imperialists  reply  they  do  not  mean  at  all  to  dispute 
the  right  of  self-gov.ernment,  a  principle  on  which  the  greatness 
of  our  nation  is  founded.  But  it  is  a  narrow  and  absurd  concep- 
tion of  self-government  which  regards  every  people,  however 
backward  and  unruly,  capable  thereof,  and  divinely  privileged  to 
misrule  itself.  The  right  of  self-government  must  be  deserved; 
it  is  the  highest  possession  of  civilized  nations,  and  they  have 
earned  it  by  labour  and  self-discipline.  The  Americans  derive 
their  right  to  govern  themselves  from  the  toil  of  thirty  genera- 
tions. The  Filipinos  have  still  to  be  educated  up  to  such  a 
plane.  To  this  the  anti-imperialists  enquire,  Is  that  to  be  called 
education  which  subdues,  like  rebels,  a  people  desirous  of  free- 
dom ?  Are  you  helping  those  people  by  sending  soldiers  to  assert 
your  sovereignty  ? 

And  the  imperialists  reply  again  that  we  have  sufficiently 
shown,  in  the  case  of  Cuba,  how  seriously  we  take  our  moral  obli- 
gations toward  weaker  peoples.  When  we  had  done  away  by 
force  of  arms  with  all  Spanish  domination  in  America,  and  had 
Cuba  quite  in  our  power,  all  Europe  was  convinced  that  we 
should  never  relax  our  hold,  and  that  the  war  would  result  simply 
in  a  mere  annexation  .of  the  rich  island;  in  short,  that  we  should 
pursue  a  typical  European  policy.  But  we  have  shown  the  world 
that  America  does  not  send  her  sons  to  battle  merely  for  aggran- 
dizement, but  only  in  a  moral  cause;  just  as  we  demanded  of  the 
conquered  Spaniards  no  indemnity,  so  we  have  made  a  general 
sacrifice  for  Cuba.  We  have  laboured  tirelessly  for  the  hygiene 
and  the  education  of  the  island,  have  strengthened  its  trade  and 
awakened  to  new  life  the  country  which  had  been  desolated  by 
Spanish  misrule,  and,  having  finished  the  work,  we  have  restored 
to  Cuba  her  freedom  and  her  right  of  self-government;  and  we 
recognize  that  we  owe  a  similar  duty  to  the  Philippines.  We  have 
not  sought  to  obtain  those  islands.  At  the  outset  of  the  war  no 
American  foresaw  that  the  island  kingdom  in  the  tropics,  ten 


206  THE  AMERICANS 

thousand  miles  away,  would  fall  into  our  hands;  but  when  the 
chain  of  events  brought  it  about,  we  could  not  escape  the  call  of 
duty.  Were  we  to  leave  the  discontented  Philippine  population 
once  more  to  the  cruelty  of  their  Spanish  masters,  or  were  we  to 
displace  the  Spaniards  and  then  leave  the  wild  race  of  the  islands 
to  their  own  anarchy,  and  thus  invoke  such  internal  hostilities  as 
would  again  wipe  out  all  the  beginnings  which  had  been  made 
toward  culture  ?  Was  it  not  rather  our  duty  to  protect  those  who 
turned  to  us,  against  the  vengeance  of  their  enemies,  and  before 
all  else  to  establish  order  and  quietude  ?  The  anti-imperialists 
retort  —  the  quietude  of  a  grave-yard.  If  America's  policy  had 
been  truly  unselfish,  it  should  have  made  every  preparation  for 
dealing  with  the  Philippines  as  it  had  dealt  with  Cuba;  instead  of 
fighting  with  the  Filipinos  we  should  at  once  have  co-operated 
with  Aguinaldo  and  sent  over  a  civil  instead  of  a  military  regi- 
ment. Nor  is  the  world  deceived  into  supposing  that  our  boasted 
civil  rule  in  the  Philippines  is  anything  more  than  a  name,  used  in 
order  somewhat  to  pacify  the  sentimentalists  of  the  New  England 
States;  while  in  reality  our  rule  is  a  military  one,  and  the  small 
success  of  a  few  well-meaning  civil  officials  merely  distracts  the 
world's  attention  from  the  constant  outbreaks  of  war.  We  have 
not  worked  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  Philippines,  but  from  that 
of  the  United  States. 

The  imperialists  answer  that  it  is  no  disgrace  to  have  been  patri- 
otic to  our  Fatherland;  the  national  honour  requires  us,  indeed,  to 
remain  for  the  present  in  the  Philippines,  and  not  to  take  down  the 
flag  which  we  have  hoisted  so  triumphantly.  We  should  not  flee 
before  a  few  disaffected  races  living  in  those  islands.  Then  the 
other  side  replies,  you  have  not  protected  the  honour  of  your  na- 
tion, but  you  have  worked  its  disgrace.  The  honour  of  America 
has  been  the  moral  status  of  its  army;  it  was  America's  boast  that 
its  army  had  never  lost  the  respect  of  an  enemy,  and  that  it  had 
held  strictly  aloof  from  every  unnecessary  cruelty.  But  America 
has  learned  a  different  lesson  in  the  Philippines,  and  such  a  one  as 
all  thoughtful  persons  have  foreseen;  for  when  a  nation  accustomed 
to  a  temperate  climate  goes  to  the  tropics  to  war  with  wild  races 
which  have  grown  up  in  cruelty  and  the  love  of  revenge,  it  neces- 
sarily forgets  its  moral  standards,  and  gives  free  rein  to  the  low- 
est and  worst  that  is  in  it.  The  American  forces  have  learned 


EXTERNAL  PROBLEMS  207 

there,  to  their  disgrace,  to  conquer  by  deception  and  trickery; 
to  be  cruel  and  revengeful,  and  so  return  torture  for  torture. 

Then  the  imperialists  say  that  this  is  not  a  question  of  the  army 
which  was  landed  in  the  tropical  islands,  but  of  the  whole  Ameri- 
can people,  which  undertook  new  duties  and  responsibilities 
for  the  islands,  and  wished  to  try,  not  only  its  military,  but  also 
its  political,  economic,  and  social  powers  along  new  lines.  A 
people  also  must  grow  and  have  its  higher  aspirations.  The 
youthful  period  of  the  American  nation  is  over;  manhood  has 
arrived,  when  new  and  dangerous  responsibilities  have  to  be 
assumed.  To  this  the  anti-imperialists  reply,  that  a  nation 
is  surely  not  growing  morally  when  it  gives  up  the  principles 
which  have  always  been  its  sole  moral  strength.  If  it  gives  up 
believing  in  the  freedom  of  every  nation  and  carries  on  a  war 
of  subjugation,  it  has  renounced  all  moral  development,  and 
instead  of  growing  it  begins  internally  to  decay.  But  this,  the 
imperialists  say,  is  absurd  —  since,  outwardly,  at  least,  we  are 
steadily  growing;  our  reputation  before  other  nations  is  increas- 
ing with  our  military  development;  we  have  become  a  powerful 
factor  in  the  powers  of  the  world,  and  our  Philippine  policy  shows 
that  our  navy  can  conquer  even  in  remote  parts  of  the  earth, 
and  that  in  the  future  America  will  be  a  power  to  reckon  with 
everywhere.  But,  on  the  contrary,  say  the  others,  our  nation 
held  a  strong  position  so  long  as,  in  accordance  with  the  Monroe 
Doctrine,  it  was  able  to  keep  any  European  power  from  getting 
a  foothold  on  the  American  continents,  and  so  long  as  we  made 
the  right  of  self-government  a  fundamental  principle  of  our 
international  politics.  But  the  instant  we  adopted  a  policy  of 
conquest  and  assumed  the  right  to  subjugate  inferior  peoples 
because  our  armies  were  the  stronger,  the  Monroe  Doctrine  be- 
came at  once  and  for  the  first  time  an  empty  phrase,  if  not  a 
piece  of  arrogance.  We  are  no  better  than  the  next  nation;  we 
have  no  right  to  prevent  others  from  acting  like  ourselves,  and 
we  have  sacrificed  our  strong  position,  and  shall  be  led  from 
war  to  war,  and  the  fortunes  of  war  are  always  uncertain. 

The  imperialists  reply  somewhat  more  temperately:  —  Ah,  but 
the  new  islands  will  contribute  very  much  to  our  trade.  Their 
possession  means  the  beginning  of  a  commercial  policy  which  will 
put  the  whole  Pacific  Ocean  at  the  disposal  of  the  American 


208  THE  AMERICANS 

merchant.  Who  can  foresee  what  tremendous  developments 
may  come  from  availing  ourselves  of  regions  lying  so  advan- 
tageously ?  When  Congress  in  1803  started  to  buy  the  great 
Province  of  Louisiana  from  France,  there  were  also  narrow-minded 
protests.  At  that  time,  too,  anti-imperialists  and  fanatics  be- 
came excited,  and  said  that  it  was  money  thrown  away;  the 
land  would  never  be  populated.  While  to-day,  a  hundred  years 
later,  the  world  prepares  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  the 
purchase  of  Louisiana  by  a  magnificent  exposition  at  St.  Louis  — 
a  transaction  which  has  meant  for  the  country  a  tremendous 
gain  in  wealth  and  culture.  America  is  destined  to  be  the  mis- 
tress of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  and  as  soon  as  the  canal  is  built  across 
the  isthmus  the  economic  importance  of  the  Philippines  will 
appear  more  clearly  every  day.  The  anti-imperialists  deny 
this.  The  financial  statement  of  the  entire  war  with  Spain  to 
the  present  moment  shows  that  $600,000,000  have  been  wasted 
and  ten  thousand  young  men  sacrificed  without  any  advantage 
being  so  much  as  in  sight.  Whereto  the  imperialists  reply:  — 
There  are  other  advantages.  War  is  a  training.  The  best  thing 
which  the  nation  can  win  is  not  riches,  but  strength;  and  in  the 
very  prosperity  of  America  the  weakening  effect  of  luxury  is 
greatly  to  be  feared.  The  nerves  of  the  nation  are  steeled  in  the 
school  of  war,  and  its  muscles  hardened.  But  the  other  side 
says  that  our  civilization  requires  thousands  of  heroic  deeds  of 
the  most  diverse  kinds,  more  than  it  needs  those  of  the  field  of 
battle;  and  that  the  American  doctrine  of  peace  is  much  better 
adapted  to  strengthen  the  moral  courage  of  the  nation  and  to 
stimulate  it  than  the  modern  training  of  war,  which,  in  the  end, 
is  only  a  question  of  expenditure  and  science.  What  we  chiefly 
need  is  serious  and  moral  republican  virtue.  The  incitements 
toward  acquisition  and  the  spirit  of  war,  on  the  other  hand, 
destroy  the  spirit  of  our  democracy,  and  breed  un-American, 
autocratic  ambitions.  War  strengthens  the  blind  faith  of  the 
leaders  in  their  own  dictatorial  superiority,  and  so  annihilates  the 
feeling  of  independence  and  responsibility  in  the  individual;  and 
this  is  just  the  way  for  the  nation  to  lose  its  moral  and  political 
integrity.  The  true  patriotism  which  our  youth  ought  to  learn 
is  not  found  in  noisy  jingoism,  but  in  the  silent  fidelity  to  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  of  our  fathers. 


EXTERNAL  PROBLEMS  209 

Thus  the  opinions  are  waged  against  one  another,  and  so  they 
will  continue  to  be.  We  must  emphasize  merely  again  and 
again  that  that  majority  which  to-day  is  on  the  side  of  the  im- 
perialists believes  at  the  same  time  enthusiastically  in  the  inter- 
national movement  for  peace,  and  quite  disinterestedly  favours, 
as  far  as  possible,  the  idea  of  the  peace  tribunal.  Most  of  all,  the 
treatment  of  Cuba  certifies  to  the  honourable  and  peaceful  ten- 
dencies of  the  dominant  party.  That  which  was  done  under 
Wood's  administration  for  the  hygiene  of  a  country  which  had 
always  been  stricken  with  yellow  fever,  for  the  school  and  judicial 
systems  of  that  unfortunate  people,  is  remarkable;  and  the  read- 
iness with  which  the  new  republic  was  afterward  recognized, 
and  with  which,  finally,  by  special  treaties  extensive  tariff  re- 
ductions were  made  to  a  people  really  dependent  on  trade  with 
America,  makes  one  of  the  most  honourable  pages  in  American 
history.  And  all  this  happened  through  the  initiative  of  these 
same  men  whose  Philippine  policy  has  been  styled  in  the  Senate 
Napoleonic.  Thus  the  fact  remains  that  there  is  an  almost 
inexplicable  mixture  in  the  American  nature  of  justice  and  covet- 
iveness,  conscience  and  indifference,  love  of  peace  and  love  of  war. 

The  latest  phase  in  expansion  has  been  toward  the  south. 
America  has  assumed  control  of  Panama.  Constitutionally,  the 
case  is  somewhat  different  here.  Panama  belonged  to  the 
Republic  of  Colombia,  and  when  the  government  of  Colombia, 
which  conducts  itself  for  the  most  part  like  the  king  and  his  ad- 
visers in  a  comic  opera,  tried  to  extort  more  money  than  was 
thought  just  from  Washington  before  it  would  sign  the  treaty 
giving  the  United  States  a  right  to  build  a  canal  through  Panama, 
and  at  first  pretended  to  decline  the  treaty  altogether,  a  revolution 
broke  out  in  the  part  of  the  country  which  was  chiefly  affected. 
Panama  declared  itself  an  independent  state,  and  the  United 
States  recognized  its  claim  to  independence,  and  concluded  the 
canal  treaty,  not  with  Colombia,  but  with  the  upstart  govern- 
ment of  Panama.  This  was  really  part  and  parcel  of  the  gen- 
eral imperialistic  movement.  We  need  not  ask  whether  the 
American  government  encouraged  Panama  to  secede;  it  certainly 
did  nothing  of  the  sort  officially,  although  it  is  perfectly  certain 
that  the  handful  of  people  in  Panama  would  not  have  had  the 
slightest  chance  of  escaping  unpunished  by  Colombia  if  it  had 


210  THE  AMERICANS 

not  been  for  American  protection;  indeed,  it  seemed  to  feel  sure 
beforehand  that  the  United  States  would  keep  Colombia  at 
bay.  And  in  fact,  the  baby  republic  was  recognized  with  all 
the  speed  of  telegraph  and  cable,  and  the  treaty  was  signed  before 
Panama  had  become  quite  aware  of  its  own  independence;  while 
at  the  same  time  Colombia's  endeavour  to  bring  the  rebellious 
district  into  line  was  suppressed  with  all  the  authority  of  her 
mighty  neighbour. 

It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  this  transaction  called  into  play  new 
principles  of  international  politics;  nor  can  it  be  excused  on  the 
ground  that  new  governments  have  been  quickly  recognized 
before.  Never  before  had  the  United  States  declared  a  rebellion 
successful  so  long  as  the  old  government  still  stood,  and  the 
new  one  was  able  to  hold  out  only  by  virtue  of  the  interference 
of  the  United  States  itself.  It  is  to  be  admitted  that  this  was 
an  imperialistic  innovation,  as  was  the  subjugation  of  the  Fili- 
pinos. But  we  should  not  be  so  narrow  as  to  condemn  a 
principle  because  it  is  new.  All  past  history  makes  the  expansion 
of  American  influence  necessary;  the  same  forces  which  make 
a  state  great  continue  to  work  through  its  later  history.  America 
must  keep  on  in  its  extension,  and  if  the  methods  by  which  the 
present  nations  grow  are  necessarily  different  from  those  by 
which  the  little  Union  was  able  to  stretch  out  into  uninhabited 
regions  a  hundred  years  ago,  then,  of  course,  the  expansion  of 
the  twentieth  century  must  take  on  other  forms  than  it  had  in 
the  nineteenth.  But  expansion  itself  cannot  stop,  nor  can  it  be 
altered  by  mere  citations  from  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
or  pointings  to  the  petty  traditions  of  provincial  days.  The 
fight  which  the  anti-imperialists  are  waging  is  thoroughly  justified 
in  so  far  as  it  is  a  fight  against  certain  outgrowths  of  such  ex- 
pansion which  have  appeared  in  the  Philippines,  and  most  of  all 
when  it  is  against  the  loss  to  the  Republic,  through  expansion,  of  its 
moral  principles  and  of  its  finer  and  deeper  feelings  through 
the  intoxication  of  power.  But  the  fight  is  hopeless  if  it  is  waged 
against  expansion  itself.  The  course  of  the  United  States  is 
marked  out. 


It  requires  no  special  gift  of  prophecy  to  point  out  that  the 


EXTERNAL  PROBLEMS  211 

next  expansion  will  be  toward  the  north.  Just  as  the  relations  in 
Panama  were  fairly  obvious  a  half  year  before  the  catastrophe 
came,  the  suspicion  cannot  be  now  put  by  that  at  a  time  not  far 
hence  the  Stars  and  Stripes  will  wave  in  the  northwestern  part  of 
Canada,  and  that  there  too  the  United  States  will  be  unwilling 
to  lower  its  flag. 

A  newspaper  is  published  in  Boston  which  announces  every 
day,  at  the  top  of  the  page,  in  bold  type,  that  it  is  the  first  duty 
of  the  United  States  to  annex  Canada.  On  the  other  hand,  one 
hears  the  opinion  that  nothing  could  be  worse  for  the  United 
States  than  to  receive  this  immense,  thinly  populated  territory 
even  as  a  gift.  There  are  the  same  differences  of  opinion  on  the 
other  side  of  the  boundary;  some  say  that  the  Canadians  are  glad 
to  be  free  from  the  problems  which  face  the  United  States,  from 
its  municipal  politics,  its  boss  rule  in  political  parties,  and  from 
the  negro  and  Philippine  questions,  and  that  Canadian  fidelity 
to  the  English  Crown  is  not  to  be  doubted  for  a  moment.  While 
others  admit  quite  openly  that  to  be  annexed  to  the  United  States  is 
the  only  natural  thing  that  can  happen  to  Canada.  The  im- 
mediate future  will  probably  see  some  sort  of  compromise.  It 
is  wholly  unlikely  that  the  eastern  part  of  Canada,  in  view  of  all 
its  traditions,  will  prove  untrue  to  its  mother  country;  whereas 
the  western  part  of  Canada  is  under  somewhat  different  eco- 
nomic conditions;  it  has  so  different  a  history,  and  is  to-day  so 
much  more  closely  related  to  the  United  States  than  to  Eng- 
land that  the  political  separation  will  hardly  continue  very  long. 
The  thousands  who  have  gone  from  the  United  States  across 
the  Canadian  frontier  in  order  to  settle  the  unpeopled  North- 
west will,  in  the  not  distant  future,  give  rise  to  some  occasion 
in  which  economic  and  political  logic  will  decree  a  transfer  of  the 
allegiance  of  Western  Canada,  with  the  exception  of  a  narrow 
strip  of  land  along  the  Pacific  Coast.  The  area  of  the  United 
States  would  then  include  a  new  region  of  about  250  million  acres  of 
wheat  lands,  of  which  to-day  hardly  two  millions  are  in  cultiva- 
tion. 

The  Canadian  problem,  of  course,  arose  neither  to-day  nor 
yesterday.  The  first  permanent  colony  in  Canada  was  a  French 
colony,  begun  in  the  year  1604.  Frenchmen  founded  Quebec  in 
the  year  1608,  and  French  settlements  developed  along  the  St. 


212  THE  AMERICANS 

Lawrence  River.  In  the  year  1759  General  Wolfe  conquered 
Quebec  for  the  English,  and  in  the  following  year  the  whole 
of  Canada  fell  into  their  power.  English  and  Scotch  immigrants 
settled  more  and  more  numerously  in  Upper  Canada.  The 
country  was  divided  in  1791  in  two  provinces,  which  were  later 
called  Ontario  and  Quebec;  and  in  1867,  by  an  act  of  the  British 
Parliament,  Ontario,  Quebec,  New  Brunswick,  and  Nova  Scotia 
were  made  into  one  country.  A  short  time  thereafter  the  govern- 
ment of  the  new  country  bought  the  possessions  of  the  Hudson 
Bay  Company,  and  soon  afterward  the  large  western  region  called 
Manitoba  was  organized  as  a  distinct  province.  In  1871  British 
Columbia  was  taken  in,  and  in  the  eighties  this  extensive 
western  land  was  divided  into  four  provinces.  During  this 
time  there  were  all  sorts  of  interruptions,  wars  with  the  Indians, 
and  disputes  over  boundaries;  but  there  has  never  been  open 
warfare  between  Canada  and  the  United  States.  The  many 
controversies  that  have  arisen  have  been  settled  by  treaty,  and 
a  court  of  arbitration  met  even  recently  in  London  to  settle  a 
dispute  about  boundaries  which  for  many  years  had  occasioned 
much  feeling.  It  was  a  question  whether  the  boundary  of  the 
Northwest  should  lie  so  as  to  leave  to  Canada  a  way  to  the  coast 
without  crossing  United  States  territory.  The  boundaries  were 
defined  by  the  treaties  as  lying  a  certain  distance  from  the  coast; 
was  this  coast  meant  to  be  mainland,  or  was  it  coastline  marked 
out  by  the  off-lying  groups  of  islands  ?  This  was  a  question  of 
great  economic  importance  for  a  part  of  Canada.  The  court 
decided  in  favour  of  the  United  States,  but  the  decision  does  not 
belong  on  one  of  the  most  honourable  pages  of  American  history. 
It  had  been  agreed  that  both  England  and  the  United  States 
should  appoint  distinguished  jurists  to  the  court  of  arbitration; 
and  this  the  English  did,  while  the  United  States  sent  prejudiced 
politicians.  This  has  created  some  embitterment  in  Canada,  and 
the  mood  is  not  to-day  entirely  friendly,  although  this  will  doubt- 
less give  way  in  view  of  the  great  economic  development  which 
works  toward  union  with  the  United  States. 

Such  a  union  would  be  hindered  very  much  more  by  the 
friendly  relations  existing  between  the  United  States  and  Eng- 
land. At  the  time  when  the  family  quarrel  between  mother  and 
daughter  countries  had  made  an  open  breach,  it  seemed  almost 


EXTERNAL  PROBLEMS  213 

certain  that  America  would  take  the  first  good  opportunity  of 
robbing  England  of  her  Canadian  possessions.  Even  before  the 
early  colonies  decided  on  revolution,  they  tried  to  draw  the 
northern  provinces  into  their  train.  And  when  the  new  Union 
was  formed,  it  seemed  a  most  natural  thing  for  all  English  speak- 
ing inhabitants  of  the  American  Continent  to  participate  therein. 
It  was  no  friendliness  toward  England  that  diverted  the  ex- 
pansion of  the  young  country  toward  the  south  rather  than 
toward  the  north.  It  was  rather  the  influence  of  the  Southern 
States  of  the  Federation  which  encouraged  the  expansion  toward 
the  south,  because  in  that  way  their  adjacent  territory  was  in- 
creased, and  therewith  the  number  of  the  slave  states  represented 
in  Congress;  and  the  institution  of  slavery  was  thereby  better 
protected  from  Northern  interference.  England  was  the  he- 
reditary foe  of  the  country  for  an  entire  century,  and  every  school 
boy  learned  from  his  history  book  to  hate  England  and  to  desire 
revenge.  But  this  has  been  wholly  changed  in  recent  years 
by  the  sympathy  which  John  Bull  showed  during  the  Spanish 
war,  and  by  his  far-seeing  magnanimity  shown  on  a  hundred 
occasions.  There  are  already  preparations  making  for  a  special 
court  of  arbitration  to  sit  on  all  Anglo-American  disputes,  and 
the  mood  of  the  American  people  is  certainly  inclined  to  avoid 
everything  that  would  unnecessarily  offend  England.  American 
politicians  would  thus  hesitate  very  long  before  attempting  so 
bold  a  step  as  the  annexation  of  Canada;  and  thus  it  is  that  the 
Canadian  problem  gets  into  the  programme  of  neither  party. 
Another  consideration  which  perhaps  makes  a  difference  is 
that  no  party  is  quite  sure  which  side  would  be  the  gainer;  whether 
among  the  millions  of  people  in  the  Canadian  West  there  would 
be  found  to  be  more  Republicans  or  Democrats.  Therefore, 
Canada  is  not  now  an  issue  between  the  parties.  Nevertheless, 
the  problem  grows  more  and  more  important  in  public  opinion, 
and  however  much  Congress  may  be  concerned  to  avoid  a  war 
with  England,  and  determined  never  deliberately  to  bring  about 
any  disloyalty  in  Canada,  we  may  be  certain  that  once  the  Ameri- 
can farmers  and  gold  miners  in  Northwestern  Canada  have  set 
the  pro-American  ball  rolling,  then  the  general  mood  will  speedily 
change  and  the  friendly  resolutions  toward  England  which  will 
be  proposed  by  Senators  will  sound  very  feeble. 


214-  THE  AMERICANS 

The  most  natural  desire,  which  seems  to  be  wide-spread,  is 
for  reciprocity  with  Canada.  Both  countries  are  aware  that 
they  are  each  other's  best  purchasers,  and  yet  they  put  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  importing  each  other's  products.  American  industry 
has  already  invested  more  than  $100,000,000  for  branch  facto- 
ries in  Canada,  in  order  to  avoid  duties;  and  the  industry  of 
New  England  would  doubtless  be  much  benefited  if  Canadian 
coal  might  be  delivered  duty-free  along  the  Atlantic  coast;  never- 
theless, the  chief  disadvantages  in  the  present  arrangements  fall 
to  Canada.  A  treaty  was  concluded  in  1854  which  guaranteed 
free  entrance  to  the  markets  of  the  United  States  for  all  Canadian 
natural  products,  and  during  the  twelve  years  in  which  the  treaty 
was  in  force,  Canadian  exports  increased  fourfold.  Then  the 
American  protective  tariff  was  restored;  and  while,  for  example, 
the  agricultural  products  which  Canada  sold  to  the  United  States 
in  1866  amounted  to  more  than  $25,000,000,  they  had  decreased 
by  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  century  to  $7,367,000;  and  all 
Canadian  exports  to  the  United  States,  with  the  exception  of 
coin  and  precious  metals,  in  spite  of  the  tremendous  growth  of 
both  countries,  had  increased  at  the  same  time  only  5  per  cent. 
Canada,  on  the  other  hand,  contented  herself  with  modest  duties, 
so  that  the  commerce  of  the  United  States  with  Canada  has  in- 
creased from  $28,000,000  in  the  year  1866  to  $117,000,000  in  the 
year  1900.  The  necessary  result  of  this  policy  of  exclusion  on  the 
part  of  the  United  States  has  necessarily  been  closer  economic 
relations  between  Canada  and  England.  The  Canadian  ex- 
ports to  Great  Britain  have  increased  steadily,  and  the  bold  plans 
of  those  who  are  to-day  agitating  a  tariff  union  for  all  Great 
Britian  would,  of  course,  specially  benefit  Canadian  commerce. 

But  the  United  States  knows  this,  and  does  not  fail  to  think 
on  the  future.  The  agitation  for  new  commercial  treaties  with 
Canada  does  not  spring  from  the  supporters  of  free-trade,  but 
from  some  most  conservative  protectionists,  and  may  be  ascribed 
even  to  McKinley  and  Dingley;  and  this  agitation  is  steadily 
growing.  On  the  other  hand,  Canada  is  by  no  means  unanimous- 
ly enthusiastic  for  the  universal  British  reciprocity  alliance.  The 
industrial  sections  of  Eastern  Canada  see  things  with  different 
eyes  from  the  agrarians  of  Western  Canada,  and  opinions  are  just 
as  diverse  as  they  are  in  England.  The  economic  needs  of  the 


EXTERNAL  PROBLEMS  215 

East  and  West  are  so  fundamentally  different,  and  since  the  West 
so  greatly  needs  reciprocity,  it  is  coming  more  and  more  to  look 
for  a  solution  of  this  problem  by  seeking,  through  a  union  of  the 
West  with  the  United  States,  all  that  which  England  cannot  offer. 
The  government  of  Canada,  which  comprises  remarkably  effective 
and  intelligent  men,  is  aiming  to  nip  the  incipient  disaffection  of 
the  West  in  the  bud,  by  means  of  its  railroad  policy.  Railroad 
lines  connect  to-day  the  western  portion  of  Canada  much  more 
closely  with  the  eastern  portion  than  with  the  northern  parts  of 
the  United  States. 

The  economic  possibilities  of  Western  Canada  are  enormous, 
and  would  suffice  for  a  population  of  a  hundred  million.  The 
supply  of  lumber  exceeds  that  of  the  United  States.  Its  gold 
regions  are  more  extensive,  its  coal  and  iron  supplies  are  in- 
exhaustible, its  nickel  mines  the  richest  in  the  world;  it  has  twice 
the  supply  of  fish  of  the  United  States,  and  its  arable  lands  could 
feed  the  population  of  the  United  States  and  Europe  together. 
Everything  depends  on  making  the  most  of  these  possibilities, 
and  the  Canadian  of  the  West  looks  with  natural  envy  on  the 
huge  progress  which  the  entirely  similar  regions  of  the  United 
States  are  making,  and  is  moved  to  reflect  how  different  things 
would  be  with  him  if  only  the  boundary  lines  could  be  altered. 

More  than  anything  else,  however,  the  Westerner  feels  that  a 
spirit  of  enterprise,  industrial  energy,  and  independent  force 
is  needed  to  exploit  these  enormous  natural  resources,  such 
as  the  inhabitants  of  a  dependent  colony  can  never  have. 
Even  when  a  colony  like  Canada  possesses  a  certain  inde- 
pendence in  the  administration  of  its  own  affairs,  it  is  still 
only  the  appearance  and  not  the  fact  of  self-government.  One 
sees  clearly  how  colourless  and  dull  the  intellectual  life  of  Canada 
is,  and  how  in  comparison  with  the  very  different  life  of  Eng- 
land on  the  one  hand,  and  of  the  United  States  on  the  other, 
the  colonial  spirit  saps  and  undermines  the  spirit  of  initiative. 
The  people  do  not  suffer  under  such  a  rule;  they  do  not 
feel  the  political  lack  of  fresh  air,  but  they  take  on  a  subdued 
and  listless  way  of  life,  trying  to  adapt  themselves  to  an  alien 
political  scheme,  and  not  having  the  courage  to  speak  out  boldly. 
This  depression  is  evinced  in  all  their  doings;  and  this  is  not  the 
spirit  which  will  develop  the  resources  of  Western  Canada.  But 


216  THE  AMERICANS 

this  infinite,  new  country  attracts  to  its  pioneer  labours  fresh  ener- 
gies which  are  found  south  of  the  Canadian  line  and  across  the 
ocean.  The  Scotch,  Germans,  Swedes,  and  especially  Americans 
emigrate  thither  in  great  numbers.  The  farmers  in  the  western 
United  States  are  to-day  very  glad  to  sell  their  small  holdings, 
in  order  to  purchase  broad  tracts  of  new,  fresh  ground  in  Canada, 
where  there  is  still  no  lack  of  room.  They  will  be  the  leaders 
in  this  new  development  of  the  West.  And  while  they  bring  with 
them  their  love  of  work  and  enterprise,  they  are  of  course 
without  sympathy  with  Canadian  traditions;  nor  do  they  feel 
any  patriotism  toward  the  country:  their  firmest  convictions 
point  toward  such  political  freedom  as  the  United  States  offers. 
Whether  the  tariff  schemes  of  England  will  be  able  to  win  back 
some  advantages  for  Canada,  only  the  future  can  say.  It  is  more 
likely  that  inasmuch  as  the  Philippine  agitation  has  extended 
the  influence  of  the  United  States  into  the  tropics,  the  climatic 
equilibrium  will  be  restored  by  another  extension  into  the  Cana- 
dian Northwest. 


The  relations  of  the  United  States  to  Cuba  and  to  the  Phil- 
ippines, to  Panama  and  to  Canada,  have  been  regulated  by  the 
immediate  needs  of  the  country  without  bringing  into  special 
prominence  any  general  principles.  Economic  interest  and 
general  ethics  have  so  far  sufficed,  and  only  here  and  there  has 
mention  been  made  of  the  fundamental  doctrines  contained  in  the 
Declaration  of  Independence.  The  case  of  South  America  is 
quite  different;  the  policy  of  the  United  States  toward  South 
America  is  dictated  to-day  neither  by  economic  interests  nor 
moral  principles;  in  fact,  it  is  a  mockery  of  morals  and  a  great 
prejudice  to  American  industry.  The  sole  source  of  this  policy 
is  an  abstract  political  doctrine,  which  a  long  time  ago  was 
both  economically  and  morally  necessary,  but  is  to-day  entirely 
without  value;  this  is  the  Monroe  Doctrine.  The  observance  of 
this  famous  doctrine  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  instances 
of  the  survival  of  an  outlived  political  principle,  and  the  blind 
way  in  which  this  prejudice  is  still  favoured  by  the  masses,  so  that 
even  the  leading  politicians  would  not  dare,  at  the  present  time, 
to  defend  the  real  interests  of  the  country  by  opposing  this  doc- 


EXTERNAL  PROBLEMS  217 

trine,  shows  clearly  how  democracy  favours  rule  of  thumb,  and 
how  the  American  people  is  in  its  thought  conservative  to  the 
last  degree.  The  Monroe  Doctrine  has  done  the  United  States 
good  service,  and  redounded  to  both  its  profit  and  its  honour. 
And  so  no  one  ventures  to  disturb  it,  although  it  has  long  ceased 
to  bring  anything  except  disadvantage.  Some  of  the  best  people 
know  this;  but  where  the  people  rule  it  is  as  true  as  where  a 
monarch  rules,  that  the  misfortune  of  rulers  is  not  to  wish  to  hear 
the  truth. 

The  blind  folly  of  the  Americans  in  holding  tenaciously  to 
the  antiquated  Monroe  Doctrine  is  surpassed  only  by  the  mad- 
ness of  those  Europeans  who  wish  to  take  up  arms  against  that 
doctrine.  All  the  declarations  of  the  Old  World  to  the  effect  that 
the  Monroe  Doctrine  is  an  unheard  of  piece  of  arrogance,  and  that 
the  Americans  have  no  right  to  assert  themselves  in  such  a  way, 
and  that  it  is  high  time  forcibly  to  call  their  right  in  question,  are 
historically  short-sighted  as  well  as  dangerous.  They  are  un- 
historical,  because  there  really  was  a  time  when  this  doctrine 
was  necessary  to  the  existence  of  the  United  States,  and  when, 
therefore,  the  country  had  a  right  to  assert  such  doctrine;  and 
now  that  it  has  been  silently  respected  for  a  hundred  years,  any 
protest  against  it  comes  too  late.  Opposition  to  the  doctrine 
from  the  side  of  Europe  would  be  foolish,  because  no  European 
country  has  any  really  vital  reason  for  calling  it  in  question,  and 
there  would  be  a  very  lively  war  indeed  if  Europe  were  to  try 
to  overstep  the  Monroe  Doctrine  as  long  as  the  great  mass  of 
the  American  people  still  hold  it  sacred.  The  Monroe  Doctrine 
must  and  will  succumb,  but  it  will  only  be  through  the  con- 
victions of  the  Americans,  never  because  some  European  nation 
threatens  to  batter  down  the  wall.  The  logic  of  events  is,  after 
all,  stronger  than  the  mere  inertia  of  inherited  doctrines.  The 
hour  seems  near  when  the  error  and  folly  of  the  Monroe  Doctrine 
are  about  to  be  felt  in  wider  circles  than  ever  before.  The  opposite 
side  is  already  ably  supported  in  addresses  and  essays.  Soon 
the  opposition  will  reach  the  newspapers,  which  are  to-day,  of 
course,  still  unanimous  on  the  popular  side;  and  whenever  a 
wholesome  movement  commences  among  the  American  people 
it  generally  spreads  with  irresistible  speed.  We  have  seen  how 
rapidly  the  imperialistic  idea  took  hold  on  the  masses,  and  the 


2i8  THE  AMERICANS 

repudiation  of  the  theory  of  Monroe  will  follow  quite  as  rapidly; 
since  the  nation  cannot,  for  the  sake  of  a  mere  whim,  perma- 
nently forget  its  best  interests.  It  is  only  a  question  of  overcoming 
the  inertia  of  long  custom. 

The  spirit  of  the  Monroe  Doctrine  was  abroad  long  before 
the  time  of  Monroe.  It  was  agreed,  from  the  earliest  days  of 
the  federal  government,  that  the  new  nation  should  keep  itself 
clear  of  all  political  entanglement  with  Europe,  that  it  would  not 
mix  in  with  the  destinies  of  European  peoples,  and  that  it  would 
expect  of  those  peoples  that  they  should  not  spread  the  boundaries 
of  their  possessions  over  to  the  American  continents.  When 
President  Washington,  in  1796,  took  his  farewell  of  the  nation,  he 
recommended  an  extension  of  commercial  relations  with  Europe, 
but  entire  aloofness  from  their  political  affairs.  "The  nations 
of  Europe,"  he  said,  "have  important  problems  which  do  not 
concern  us  as  a  free  people.  The  causes  of  their  frequent  mis 
understandings  lie  far  outside  of  our  province,  and  the  circum- 
stance that  America  is  geographically  remote  will  facilitate  our 
political  isolation,  and  the  nations  who  go  to  war  will  hardly 
challenge  our  young  nation,  since  it  is  clear  that  they  will  have 
nothing  to  gain  by  it. " 

This  feeling,  that  America  was  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
European  politics,  and  that  the  European  nations  should  on  no 
condition  be  allowed  to  extend  their  sphere  of  action  on  to  the 
American  continents,  grew  steadily.  This  national  conviction 
rested  primarily  on  two  motives:  firstly,  America  wanted  to  be 
sure  of  its  national  identity.  It  felt  instinctively  that,  if  it  were  to 
become  involved  in  European  conflicts,  the  European  powers 
might  interfere  in  the  destinies  of  the  smaller  and  growing  nation, 
and  that  the  danger  of  such  interference  would  increase  tre- 
mendously if  the  great  nations  of  Europe  were  to  gain  a  foot- 
hold in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  young  republic  on  this  side 
of  the  ocean.  In  the  second  place,  this  nation  felt  that  it  had 
a  moral  mission  to  perform.  The  countries  of  Europe  were 
groaning  under  oppression,  whereas  this  nation  had  thrown 
off  the  English  yoke,  and  proposed  to  keep  the  new  continent 
free  from  such  misrule.  In  order  to  make  it  the  theatre  for  an 
experiment  of  modern  democracy,  no  absolute  monarchs  were 
to  set  foot  in  this  new  world;  the  self-government  of  the  people  was 


EXTERNAL  PROBLEMS  219 

to  remain  unquestioned,  and  every  republic  was  to  be  free  to 
work  out  its  own  salvation. 

Thus  the  desire  for  self-protection  and  a  moral  interest  in  the 
fight  against  absolutism  have  prescribed  a  course  of  holding  aloof 
from  European  affairs,  and  of  demanding  that  Europe  should 
not  reach  out  toward  the  American  continents.  This  has  become 
a  cardinal  principle  in  American  politics.  The  opportunity  soon 
came  to  express  this  principle  very  visibly  in  international  pol- 
itics. The  Holy  Alliance  between  Austria,  Russia,  and  Prussia 
was  believed  by  America,  ever  since  1822,  to  have  been  arranged 
in  order  to  regain  for  Spain  the  Spanish  colonies  in  South 
America.  England  wished  to  ally  itself  with  the  United  States; 
but  they,  with  excellent  tact,  steered  their  course  alone.  In  1822 
the  United  States  recognized  the  independence  of  the  Central 
American  republics;  and  in  1823,  President  Monroe,  in  his 
message  to  Congress,  which  was  probably  penned  by  John 
Quincy  Adams,  who  was  then  Secretary  of  State,  set  down  this 
policy  in  black  and  white.  Monroe  had  previously  asked  ex- 
President  Jefferson  for  his  opinion,  and  Jefferson  had  written  that 
our  first  and  fundamental  maxim  should  be,  never  to  involve 
ourselves  in  European  disputes;  and  our  second,  never  to  permit 
Europe  to  meddle  in  cis-Atlantic  affairs,  North  and  South 
America  having  their  own  interests,  which  are  fundamentally 
different  from  those  of  Europe.  Now  the  message  of  President 
Monroe  contained  the  following  declarations:  "That  we  should 
consider  any  attempt  on  their  part  [of  the  allied  powers]  to  extend 
their  system  to  any  portion  of  this  hemisphere  as  dangerous  to  our 
peace  and  safety,"  and  "that  we  could  not  view  any  interposition 
for  the  purpose  of  oppressing  [governments  on  this  side  of  the 
water  whose  independence  we  had  acknowledged],  or  controlling 
in  any  manner  their  destiny  by  any  European  power,  in  any  other 
light  than  as  a  manifestation  of  an  unfriendly  disposition  toward 
the  United  States. " 

Thus  the  famous  Monroe  Doctrine  was  announced  to  the 
world,  and  became  an  international  factor  sufficiently  potent 
even  to  prevent  Napoleon  from  realizing  his  plans  regarding 
Mexico,  and  in  more  recent  times  to  protect  Venezuela  from 
the  consequences  of  her  misdeeds.  And  although,  at  just  that 
time  of  the  Venezuelan  dispute,  the  old  Monroe  Doctrine  was 


220  THE  AMERICANS 

in  so  far  modified  that  the  Presidential  message  conceded  to 
European  powers  their  right  to  press  their  claims  by  force  of 
arms,  so  long  as  they  claimed  no  permanent  right  of  occupation, 
nevertheless  the  discussions  ended  with  the  extreme  demand  that 
foreign  powers  should  be  content  with  the  promise  of  a  South 
American  state  to  pay  its  debts,  and  should  receive  no  security; 
nor  did  the  United  States  give  security  for  the  payment,  either. 
After  eighty  years  the  doctrine  is  still  asserted  as  it  has  been 
from  the  first,  although  the  situation  is  in  all  respects  very  dif- 
ferent. A  few  brief  instances  of  these  changes  must  suffice  us. 

In  the  first  place,  the  two  fundamental  motives  which  gave  rise 
to  the  doctrine,  and  in  which  all  important  documents  are  so 
clearly  enunciated  from  the  time  of  Washington  to  that  of  Monroe, 
have  long  since  ceased  to  exist.  The  contrast  between  Europe 
as  the  land  of  tyranny  and  America  as  a  democratic  free  soil, 
no  longer  holds;  nor  can  the  notion  be  bolstered  up  any  longer, 
even  for  political  ends.  In  the  first  place  all  countries  of  Western 
Europe  now  enjoy  popular  representation,  while  the  Latin  re- 
publics of  South  America,  with  the  exception  of  Chili  and 
the  Argentine  Republic,  are  the  most  absurd  travesties  of  freedom 
and  democracy.  Conditions  in  Venezuela  and  Colombia  are 
now  pretty  well  known.  It  has  been  shown,  for  instance,  that 
about  one-tenth  of  the  population  consists  of  highly  cultivated 
Spaniards,  who  take  no  part  in  politics,  and  suffer  under  a 
shameless  administrative  misrule;  that  some  eight-tenths  more  are 
a  harmless  and  ignorant  proletariat  of  partly  Spanish  and  partly 
Indian  descent  —  people  who  likewise  have  no  political  interest, 
and  who  are  afraid  of  the  men  in  power  —  while  the  remaining 
tenth,  which  is  of  mixed  Spanish,  Indian,  and  negro  blood,  holds 
in  its  hands  the  so-called  republican  government,  and  keeps 
itself  in  power  with  every  device  of  extortion  and  deception,  and 
from  time  to  time  splits  up  into  parties  which  throw  the  whole 
country  into  an  uproar,  merely  for  the  personal  advantages  of  the 
party  leaders. 

Even  in  America  there  is  no  longer  a  political  back-woodsman 
who  supposes  that  a  republic  like  what  the  founders  of  the  United 
States  had  in  mind,  can  ever  be  made  out  of  such  material;  and 
when,  in  spite  of  this,  as  in  the  negro  question,  some  one  gets  up 
at  the  decisive  moment  of  every  discussion  and  tries  to  conjure  with 


EXTERNAL  PROBLEMS  221 

the  Declaration  of  Independence,  even  such  an  appeal  now  often 
misses  its  effect.  Since  the  Americans  have  gone  into  the 
Philippines  they  can  no  longer  hold  it  an  axiom  that  every  govern- 
ment must  be  justified  by  the  assent  of  the  governed.  People 
have  learned  to  understand  that  the  right  of  self-government  must 
be  earned,  and  is  deserved  only  as  the  reward  of  hard  work;  that 
nations  which  have  not  yet  grown  to  be  orderly  and  peaceable 
need  education  like  children  who  are  not  yet  of  age  and  do  not 
know  what  is  good  for  them.  To  say  that  the  pitiable  citizen  of  a 
corrupt  South  American  republic  is  freer  than  the  citizen  of 
England,  France,  or  Germany  would  be  ridiculous;  to  protect  the 
anarchy  of  these  countries  against  the  introduction  of  some 
European  political  system  is  at  the  present  time  not  a  moral 
obligation,  surely,  which  the  American  Republic  need  feel  itself 
called  on  to  perform.  The  democratic  idea,  as  realized  in  Ameri- 
can life,  has  become  much  more  influential  on  the  governments 
of  Europe  than  on  those  of  South  America,  notwithstanding  their 
lofty  constitutions,  which  are  filled  with  the  most  high-flown  moral 
and  philosophical  utterances,  but  are  obeyed  by  no  one. 

Now  the  other  motive  which  supported  the  Monroe  Doctrine, 
namely,  the  security  of  the  United  States  and  of  their  peaceful  isola- 
tion, has  to-day  not  the  slightest  validity;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the 
superstitious  faith  in  this  doctrine  which  might  conceivably  en- 
danger the  peace  of  the  country.  Of  course,  this  is  only  in  so 
far  as  the  doctrine  applies  to  South  America,  not  to  Central 
America.  It  would  indeed  be  impossible  for  the  United  States 
to  allow,  say  Cuba,  in  passing  from  Spanish  hands,  to  come 
into  possession  of  another  European  nation;  in  fact,  no  part  of 
Central  America  could  become  the  seat  of  new  European  colo- 
nies without  soon  becoming  a  seat  of  war.  The  construction  of 
the  canal  across  the  isthmus  confirms  and  insures  the  moral 
and  political  leadership  of  the  United  States  in  Central  America 
and  the  Antilles.  But  the  situation  is  quite  different  in  South 
America.  The  Americans  are  too  apt  to  forget  that  Europe  is 
much  nearer  to  the  United  States  than,  for  instance,  the  Argen- 
tine Republic,  and  that  if  one  wants  to  go  from  New  York  to  the 
Argentine  Republic,  the  quickest  way  to  go  is  by  way  of  Europe. 
And  the  United  States  have  really  very  little  industrial  intercourse 
or  sympathy  with  the  Latin  republics.  A  European  power  adjoins 


222  THE  AMERICANS 

the  United  States  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  Ocean;  and 
the  fact  that  England,  at  one  time  their  greatest  enemy,  abuts 
along  this  whole  border  has  never  threatened  the  peace  of  the 
United  States;  but  it  is  supposed  to  be  an  instant  calamity  if 
Italy  or  England  or  Holland  gets  hold  of  a  piece  of  land  far  away 
in  South  America,  in  payment  of  debts  or  to  ensure  the  safety 
of  misused  colonists. 

So  long  as  the  United  States  were  small  and  weak,  this  ex- 
aggerated fear  of  unknown  developments  was  intelligible;  but 
now  that  the  country  is  large  and  strong,  and  the  supposed  con- 
trast between  the  Old  and  New  Worlds  no  longer  exists,  since  the 
United  States  are  much  more  nearly  like  the  countries  of  Europe 
than  like  the  South  American  republics,  any  argument  for  the 
Monroe  Doctrine  on  the  ground  of  misgivings  or  fear  comes  to 
be  downright  hysterical.  In  the  present  age  of  ocean  cables, 
geographical  distances  disappear.  The  American  deals  with  the 
Philippines  as  if  they  were  before  his  door,  although  they  are 
much  farther  from  Washington  than  any  South  American  coun- 
try is  from  Europe.  Occasions  for  dispute  with  European  coun- 
tries may,  on  the  other  hand,  come  up  at  any  time  without  the 
slightest  reference  to  South  America,  since  the  United  States  have 
now  become  an  international  power;  it  requires  merely  an  ob- 
jectionable refusal  to  admit  imports,  some  diplomatic  mishap,  or 
some  unfairness  in  a  matter  of  tariff. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  European  countries  were  to  have 
colonies  in  South  America,  as  they  have  in  Africa,  no  more  occa- 
sions for  complaint  or  dissatisfaction  would  accrue  to  the  United 
States  than  from  the  similar  colonies  in  Africa.  No  Russian 
or  French  or  Italian  colony  in  South  America  would  ever  in  the 
world  give  rise  to  a  difficulty  with  the  United  States  through  any 
real  opposition  of  interests,  and  could  only  do  so  because  a 
doctrine  forbidding  such  colonies,  which  had  been  adopted 
under  quite  different  circumstances,  was  still  bolstered  up  and 
defended.  If  the  Monroe  Doctrine  were  to-day  to  be  applied  no 
farther  than  Central  America,  and  South  America  were  to  be 
exempted,  the  possibilities  of  a  conflict  with  European  powers 
would  be  considerably  decreased.  That  which  was  meant 
originally  to  guarantee  peace,  has,  under  the  now  wholly  altered 
conditions,  become  the  greatest  menace  of  war. 


EXTERNAL  PROBLEMS  223 

But  the  main  point  is  not  that  the  motives  which  first  led  to  the 
Monroe  Doctrine 'are  to-day  invalid;  the  highest  interests  of  the 
United  States  demand  that  this  moribund  doctrine  be  definitely 
given  up.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  never  doubted  that  the  exclu- 
sion of  the  Old  World  countries  from  the  new  American  continents 
was  only  the  conclusion  of  a  premise,  to  the  effect  that  the  Ameri- 
cans themselves  proposed  to  confine  their  political  interests  to  their 
own  continent.  That  was  a  wise  policy  in  the  times  of  Wash- 
ington and  Monroe;  and  whether  or  not  it  would  have  been 
wise  in  the  time  of  McKinley,  it  was  in  any  case  at  that  time 
thrown  over.  The  Americans  have  united  with  the  European 
forces  to  do  battle  in  China;  they  have  extended  their  own  do- 
minion toward  Asia;  they  have  sent  men-of-war  to  Europe  on 
political  missions;  in  short,  the  Americans  have  for  years  been 
extending  their  political  influence  around  the  world,  and  Secre- 
tary Hay  has  for  a  long  time  played  an  influential  part  in  the 
European  concert  of  powers.  The  United  States  have  too  often 
defended  their  Monroe  claim  on  the  ground  of  their  own  aloofness 
from  these  powers  to  feel  justified  in  urging  the  claim  when 
they  no  longer  do  keep  aloof. 

There  is  another  and  more  important  consideration.  The 
real  interest  of  the  United  States  with  regard  to  South  America 
is  solely  that  that  land  shall  develop  as  far  as  possible,  that  its 
enormous  treasures  shall  be  exploited,  and  that  out  of  a  prosper- 
ous commercial  continent  important  trade  advantages  shall  accrue 
to  the  United  States.  This  is  possible  only  by  the  establishment 
of  order  there  —  the  instant  termination  of  anarchy.  As  long  as  the 
Monroe  Doctrine  is  so  unnecessarily  held  to,  the  miserable  and 
impolitic  stagnation  of  that  ravaged  country  can  never  be  bettered, 
since  all  the  consequences  of  that  doctrine  work  just  in  the 
opposite  direction.  It  is  sufficiently  clear  that  progress  will  not 
be  made  until  fresh,  healthy,  enterprising  forces  come  in  from 
outside;  but  now  so  soon  as  an  Englishman  or  German  or 
other  European  undertakes  to  earn  his  livelihood  there,  he 
is  at  once  exposed  to  the  shameless  extortion  and  other  chicanery 
of  the  so-called  governments.  And  when  European  capital  wishes 
to  help  the  development  of  these  countries,  it  is  given  absolutely 
no  protection  against  their  wretched  politics.  And  all  this  is 
merely  because  the  chartered  rascals  in  power  know  that  they 


224.  THE  AMERICANS 

can  kill  and  steal  with  impunity,  so  long  as  the  sacred  Mon- 
roe Doctrine  is  there,  like  an  enchanted  wall,  between  them 
and  the  mother  countries  of  their  victims;  they  know  only  too 
well  that  no  evil  can  come  to  them,  since  the  statesmen  at  Wash- 
ington are  bound  down  to  a  prejudice,  and  required  scrupulously 
to  protect  every  hair  on  their  precious  heads.  All  this  prevents 
any  infusion  of  good  blood  from  coming  into  these  countries,  and 
so  abandons  the  land  entirely  to  the  indolence  of  its  inhabitants. 
The  conditions  would  be  economically  sounder,  in  almost  every 
part  of  South  America,  if  more  immigrants  came  in,  and  more 
especially  if  those  that  came  could  take  a  larger  part  in  the  gov- 
ernments. 

It  would  be  somewhat  different  if  the  United  States  were  to 
admit,  as  a  consequence  of  the  Monroe  Doctrine,  its  own  re- 
sponsibility for  the  public  administration  of  these  countries,  for 
their  debts  and  for  whatever  crimes  they  commit;  in  other  words, 
if  the  United  States  were  virtually  to  annex  South  America. 
There  is  no  thought  of  this;  the  United  States  have  recently,  in 
the  Venezuela  matter,  clearly  declined  all  responsibility.  If, 
while  declining  the  responsibility,  the  United  States  persist  in 
affirming  the  Monroe  Doctrine,  they  are  to  be  charged  inevitably 
with  helping  on  anarchy,  artificially  holding  back  the  progress  of 
one  of  the  richest  and  least  developed  portions  of  the  earth,  and 
thereby  hurting  their  own  commercial  outlook  more  than  any 
European  protective  tariff  could  possibly  do.  The  greater  part 
Europe  takes  in  South  America,  so  much  the  more  will  trade  and 
commerce  prosper;  and  in  this  pioneer  labour,  as  history  has 
shown,  the  patient  German  is  the  best  advance-agent.  Almost  all 
the  commercial  relations  between  the  United  States  and  the  South 
American  republics  are  meditated  by  European^  and  especially 
German,  business  houses.  The  trade  of  the  United  States  with 
South  America  is  to-day  astonishingly  small,  but  when  finally  the 
Monroe  barrier  falls  away  it  will  develop  enormously. 

In  all  this  America  has  not,  from  its  previous  policy,  derived 
even  the  modest  advantage  of  endearing  itself  to  the  inhabitants 
of  these  South  American  republics.  Quite  on  the  contrary, 
the  Monroe  Doctrine  sounds  like  the  ring  of  a  sword  in  the  South 
American  ear.  The  American  of  the  south  is  too  vividly  re- 
minded that,  although  the  province  of  the  United  States  is  after 


EXTERNAL  PROBLEMS  225 

all  only  a  finite  portion  of  the  New  World,  the  nation  has,  never- 
theless, set  itself  up  as  the  master  of  both  continents;  and  the 
natural  consequence  is,  that  all  the  small  and  weak  countries  join 
forces  against  the  one  great  country  and  brood  continually  over 
their  mistrust.  The  attempts  of  the  United  States  to  win  the 
sympathies  of  the  rest  of  America  have  brought  no  very  great 
results  —  since,  in  the  States,  sympathy  has  been  tempered  with 
contempt,  and  in  South  America  with  fear.  In  short,  the  unprej- 
udiced American  must  come  back  every  time  to  the  ceterum  censeo 
that  the  Monroe  Doctrine  must  finally  be  given  up. 

One  point,  however,  must  always  be  emphasized  —  that  all  the 
motives  speaking  against  the  doctrine  will  be  efficient  only  so 
far  as  they  appeal  to  the  soul  of  the  American  people,  and  over- 
throw there  the  economically  suicidal  Monroe  Doctrine.  On  the 
other  hand,  Europe  would  gain  nothing  by  trying  to  tear  in 
pieces  the  sacred  parchment;  no  possible  European  interest  in 
South  America  would  compare  in  importance  with  the  loss  of 
friendship  of  the  United  States.  And  so  long  as  the  overwhelm- 
ing majority  of  Americans  holds  to  its  delusions,  the  hostility 
would  be  a  very  bitter  one.  Indeed,  there  would  be  no  surer 
way  of  stopping  the  gradual  abandonment  of  the  doctrine  than 
for  Europe  to  attempt  to  dispute  its  validity. 

The  process  of  dissolution  must  take  place  in  America;  but 
the  natural  interest  and  needs  of  the  country  so  demand  this 
development  that  it  may  be  confidently  expected.  A  new  time 
has  come:  the  provinciality  of  the  Monroe  Doctrine  no  longer 
does  for  America  as  a  world  power,  and  events  follow  their 
logical  development;  the  time  will  not  be  long  before  the  land 
of  the  Stars  and  Stripes  will  have  extended  across  Western  Can- 
ada to  Alaska,  and  have  annexed  the  whole  of  Central  America; 
while  the  Latin  republics  of  South  America,  on  the  other  hand, 
will  have  been  sprinkled  in  with  English,  Italian,  French,  and 
German  colonies;  and  most  of  all,  those  republics  themselves,  by 
the  lapse  of  the  Monroe  Doctrine,  will  have  been  won  over  to 
law  and  order,  progress  and  economic  health.  The  United  States 
are  too  sound  and  too  idealistic  to  continue  to  oppose  the  demands 
of  progress  for  the  sake  of  a  mere  fetish. 

Thus  the  dominion  of  this  world  power  will  grow.  The  in- 
fluence of  the  Army,  and  even  more  of  the  Navy,  will  help  in 


226  THE  AMERICANS 

this  growth;  even  if  the  dreams  of  Captain  Hobson  are  not  real- 
ized. To  be  sure,  the  dangers  will  also  grow  apace;  with  a  great 
navy  comes  the  desire  to  use  it.  Nevertheless,  one  must  not  over- 
look the  fact  that  international  politics  are  much  less  a  subject 
of  public  thought  and  discussion  in  America  than  in  Europe. 
For  the  American  thinks  firstly  of  internal  politics,  and  secondly  of 
internal  politics,  and  lastly  of  internal  politics;  and  only  at 
some  distant  day  does  he  plan  to  meditate  on  foreign  affairs. 
Unless  the  focus  of  public  attention  is  distinctly  transferred, 
the  idea  of  expansion  will  meet  with  sufficient  resistance  to  check 
its  undue  growth. 

There  is  specially  a  thoroughgoing  distrust  of  militarism,  and 
an  instinctive  fear  that  it  works  against  democracy  and  favours 
despotism;  and  there  is,  indeed,  no  doubt  that  the  increasingly 
important  relations  between  this  country  and  foreign  powers 
put  more  authority  into  the  hands  of  the  Presidential  and  Sen- 
atorial oligarchy  than  the  general  public  likes  to  see.  Every 
slightest  concealment  on  the  part  of  the  President  or  his  Cabinet 
goes  against  the  feelings  of  the  nation,  and  this  state  of  feeling 
will  hardly  alter;  it  comes  from  the  depths  of  the  American  char- 
acter. On  the  other  hand,  it  is  combined  with  a  positive  belief 
in  the  moral  mission  of  the  United  States,  which  are  destined  to 
gain  their  world-wide  influence,  not  by  might,  but  by  the  force 
of  exemplary  attainment,  of  complete  freedom,  admirable  or- 
ganization, and  hard  work.  Any  one  who  observes  the  profound 
sources  of  this  belief  will  be  convinced  that  any  different  feelings 
in  the  public  soul,  any  greed  of  power,  and  any  imperialistic  in- 
stincts, are  only  a  passing  intoxication.  In  its  profoundest 
being,  America  is  a  power  for  peace  and  for  ethical  ideals. 


PART  TWO 

ECONOMIC  LIFE 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

The  Spirit  of  Self-Initiative 

"^  |  ^HE  spirit  aids!  from  anxious  scruples  freed,  I  write,  'In 
the  beginning  was  the  deed!'"  Others  might  write:  In 

"*"  the  beginning  was  the  inexhaustible  wealth  of  the  soil;  and 
still  others,  if  their  memory  is  short,  might  be  tempted  to  say: 
In  the  beginning  were  the  trusts!  One  who  wishes  to  under- 
stand the  almost  fabulous  economic  development  of  the  United 
States  must,  indeed,  not  simply  consider  its  ore  deposits  and  gold 
mines,  its  coal  and  oil  fields,  its  wheat  lands  and  cotton  dis- 
tricts, its  great  forests  and  the  supplies  of  water.  The  South 
Americans  live  no  less  in  a  country  prospered  by  nature,  and  so 
also  do  the  Chinese.  South  Africa  offers  entirely  similar  con- 
ditions to  those  of  the  North  American  continent,  and  yet  its 
development  has  been  a  very  different  one;  and,  finally,  a 
consideration  of  the  peculiar  forms  of  American  industrial 
organization,  as,  for  instance,  the  trusts,  reveals  merely  symptoms 
and  not  the  real  causes  which  have  been  at  work. 

The  colossal  industrial  successes,  along  with  the  great  evils  and 
dangers  which  have  come  with  them,  must  be  understood  from 
the  make-up  of  the  American  character.  Just  as  we  have  traced 
the  political  life  of  America  back  to  a  powerful  instinct  for  self- 
determination,  the  free  self-guidance  of  the  individual,  so  we 
shall  here  find  that  it  is  the  instinct  for  free  self-initiative  which  has 
set  in  motion  this  tremendous  economic  fly-wheel.  The  pres- 
sure to  be  up  and  doing  has  opened  the  earth,  tilled  the  fields, 
created  industries,  and  developed  such  technical  skill  as  to-day 
may  even  dream  of  dominating  the  world. 

But  to  grant  that  the  essentials  of  such  movements  are  not  to 
be  found  in  casual  external  circumstances,  but  must  lie  in  the 
mental  make-up  of  the  nation,  might  lead  in  this  case  to  ascribing 


230  THE  AMERICANS 

the  chief  influence  to  quite  a  different  mental  trait.  The  average 
European,  permeated  as  he  is  with  Old  World  culture,  is,  in 
fact,  convinced  that  this  intense  economic  activity  is  the  simple 
result  of  unbounded  greed.  The  search  for  gold  and  the  pursuit 
of  the  dollar,  we  often  hear,  have  destroyed  in  the  American 
soul  every  finer  ambition;  and  since  the  American  has  no  higher 
desire  for  culture,  he  is  free  to  chase  his  mammon  with  undisguised 
and  shameless  greed.  The  barbarity  of  his  soul,  it  is  said,  gives 
him  a  considerable  economic  advantage  over  others  who  have 
some  heart  as  well  as  a  pocket-book,  and  whose  feelings  incline 
to  the  humane. 

Whether  such  a  contemptuous  allegation  is  a  useful  weapon 
in  the  economic  struggle,  is  not  here  in  question.  One  who 
desires  to  understand  the  historical  development  of  events  in  the 
New  World  is  bound  to  see  in  all  such  talk  nothing  but  distortion, 
and  to  realize  that  Europe  could  face  its  own  economic  future 
with  less  apprehension  if  it  would  estimate  the  powers  of  its  great 
competitor  more  temperately  and  justly,  and  would  ask  itself 
honestly  if  it  could  not  learn  a  thing  or  two  here  and  there. 

Merely  to  ape  American  doings  would,  in  the  end,  avail  noth- 
ing; that  which  proceeds  from  intellectual  and  temperamental 
traits  can  be  effectively  adopted  by  others  only  if  they  can  acquire 
the  same  traits.  It  is  useless  to  organize  similar  factories  or 
trusts  without  imitating  in  every  respect  the  men  who  first  so 
organized  themselves.  Whether  this  last  is  necessary,  he  alone 
can  say  who  has  understood  his  neighbours  at  their  best,  and 
has  not  been  contented  to  make  a  merely  thoughtless  and  un- 
charitable judgment.  A  magnificent  economic  life  such  as  that  of 
America  can  never  spring  from  impure  ethical  motives,  and 
the  person  is  very  naive  who  supposes  that  a  great  business  was 
ever  built  up  by  mere  impudence,  deception,  and  advertising. 
Every  merchant  knows  that  even  advertisements  benefit  only 
a  solid  business,  and  that  they  run  a  bad  one  into  the  ground. 
And  it  is  still  more  naive  to  suppose  that  the  economic  strength  of 
America  has  been  built  up  through  underhanded  competition 
without  respect  to  law  or  justice,  and  impelled  by  nothing  but  a 
barbarous  and  purely  material  ambition.  One  might  better 
believe  that  the  twenty-story  office  buildings  on  lower  Broadway 
are  supported  merely  by  the  flagstones  in  the  street;  in  point  of  fact, 


SELF-INITIATIFE  231 

no  mere  passer-by  who  does  not  actually  see  the  foundations  of 
such  colossal  structures  can  have  an  idea  of  how  deep  down  under 
the  soil  these  foundations  go  in  order  to  find  bed-rock.  Just 
so  the  colossal  fabric  of  American  industry  is  able  to  tower  so 
high  only  because  it  has  its  foundation  on  the  hard  rock  of  honest 
conviction. 

In  the  first  place,  we  might  look  into  the  American's  greed 
for  gold.  A  German  observes  immediately  that  the  American 
does  not  prize  his  possessions  much  unless  he  has  worked  for 
them  himself;  of  this  there  are  innumerable  proofs,  in  spite  of 
the  opposite  appearances  on  the  surface.  One  of  the  most  in- 
teresting of  these  is  the  absence  of  the  bridal  dower.  In  Ger- 
many or  France,  the  man  looks  on  a  wealthy  marriage  as  one  of 
the  most  reliable  means  of  getting  an  income;  there  are  whole 
professions  which  depend  on  a  man's  eking  out  his  entirely 
inadequate  salary  from  property  which  he  inherits  or  gets  by 
marriage;  and  the  eager  search  for  a  handsome  dowry  —  in  fact, 
the  general  commercial  character  of  marriage  in  reputable 
European  society  everywhere —  always  surprises  Americans.  They 
know  nothing  of  such  a  thing  at  home.  Even  when  the  parents 
of  the  bride  are  prosperous,  it  is  unusual  for  a  young  couple  to 
live  beyond  the  means  of  the  husband.  Everywhere  one  sees  the 
daughters  of  wealthy  families  stepping  into  the  modest  homes 
of  their  husbands,  and  these  husbands  would  feel  it  to  be  a 
disgrace  to  depend  on  their  prosperous  fathers-in-law.  An  actual 
dowry  received  from  the  bride's  parents  during  their  lifetime 
is  virtually  unknown.  Another  instance  of  American  contempt 
for  unearned  wealth,  which  especially  contrasts  with  European 
customs,  is  the  disapproval  which  the  American  always  has 
for  lotteries.  If  he  were  really  bent  on  getting  money,  he  would 
find  the  dower  and  the  lottery  a  ready  means;  whereas,  in  fact,  the 
lottery  is  not  only  in  all  its  forms  forbidden  by  law,  but  public 
opinion  wholly  disapproves  of  games  of  chance.  The  President 
of  Harvard  University,  in  a  public  address  given  a  short  time 
since,  in  which  he  spoke  before  a  large  audience  of  the  change 
in  moral  attitude,  was  able  to  give  a  striking  illustration  of  the 
transformation  in  the  fact  that  two  generations  ago  the  city  of 
Boston  conducted  a  lottery,  in  order  to  raise  money  for  rebuilding 
a  university  structure  which  had  been  destroyed  by  fire.  He 


232  THE  AMERICANS 

showed  vividly  how  such  a  transaction  would  be  entirely  un- 
thinkable to-day,  and  how  all  American  feelings  would  revolt 
at  raising  money  for  so  good  a  cause  as  an  educational  institution 
by  so  immoral  a  means  as  a  public  lottery.  The  entire  audience 
received  this  as  a  matter  of  course,  apparently  without  a  suspicion 
as  to  how  many  cathedrals  are  being  built  in  Europe  to-day  from 
tickets  at  half  a  dollar.  It  was  amusing  to  observe  how  Carnegie's 
friend,  Schwab,  who  had  been  the  greatly  admired  manager  of  the 
steel  works,  fell  in  public  esteem  when  news  came  from  the 
Riviera  that  he  was  to  be  seen  at  the  gaming-tables  of  Monaco. 
The  true  American  despises  any  one  who  gets  money  without 
working  for  it.  Money  is  not  the  thing  which  is  considered,  but 
the  manner  of  getting  it.  This  is  what  the  American  cares  for, 
and  he  prizes  the  gold  he  gets  primarily  as  an  indication  of  his 
ability. 

At  first  sight  it  looks  as  if  this  disinclination  to  gambling  were  not 
to  be  taken  seriously.  It  would  signify  nothing  that  the  police 
discover  here  and  there  a  company  of  gamblers  who  have  bar- 
ricaded the  door;  but  a  European  might  say  that  there  is  another 
sort  of  speculative  fever  which  is  very  prevalent.  Even  Americans 
on  the  stock  exchange  often  say,  with  a  smile:  We  are  a  gam- 
bling nation;  and  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  broker  it  would  be 
so.  He  sees  how  all  classes  of  people  invest  in  speculative  securities, 
and  how  the  public  interests  itself  in  shares  which  are  subject  to 
the  greatest  fluctuations;  how  the  cab-driver  and  the  hotel  waiter 
pore  nervously  over  the  quotations,  and  how  new  mining  stocks 
and  industrial  shares  are  greedily  bought  by  school  teachers 
and  commercial  clerks.  The  broker  sees  in  this  the  people's 
desire  for  gambling,  because  he  is  himself  thoroughly  aware  of  the 
great  risks  which  are  taken,  and  knows  that  the  investors  can  see 
only  a  few  of  the  factors  which  determine  prices. 

But  in  the  public  mind  all  this  buying  and  selling  looks  very 
different.  The  small  man,  investing  a  few  dollars  in  such  doubt- 
ful certificates,  never  thinks  of  himself  as  a  gambler;  he  thinks 
that  he  understands  the  market;  he  is  not  trusting  to  luck,  but 
follows  the  quotations  day  by  day  for  a  long  time,  and  asks  his 
friends  for  "tips,"  until  he  is  convinced  that  his  own  discretion 
and  cunning  will  give  him  an  advantage.  If  he  were  to  think  of 
his  gain  as  matter  of  chance,  as  the  broker  thinks  it  is,  he  would 


SELF-INITIATIVE  233 

not  only  not  invest  his  money,  but  would  be  no  longer  attracted 
by  the  transactions.  And  whenever  he  loses,  he  still  goes  on, 
believing  that  he  will  be  able  the  next  time  to  figure  out  the 
turn  of  the  market  more  accurately. 

The  same  is  true  of  the  wagers  which  the  Anglo-Saxon  is 
always  making,  because  he  loves  excitement.  For  him  a  wager 
is  not  a  true  wager  when  it  is  merely  a  question  of  chance.  Both 
sides  make  calculations,  and  have  their  special  considerations 
which  they  believe  will  determine  the  outcome,  and  the  winner 
feels  his  gain  to  be  earned  by  his  shrewdness.  An  ordinary 
game  of  chance  does  not  attract  the  American  —  a  fact  which  may 
be  seen  even  in  the  grotesque  game  of  poker.  In  a  certain  sense, 
the  American's  aversion  to  tipping  servants  reveals,  perhaps,  the 
same  trait.  The  social  inferiority  which  he  feels  to  be  implied 
in  the  acceptance  of  a  fee,  goes  against  the  self-respect  of  the 
individual;  but  there  is  the  additional  disinclination  here  to  re- 
ceiving money  which  is  not  strictly  earned. 

There  are  positive  traits  corresponding  to  these  negative  ones; 
and  especially  among  them  may  be  noticed  the  use  to  which 
money  is  put  after  it  is  gotten.  If  the  American  were  really 
miserly,  he  would  not  distribute  his  property  with  such  a  free  hand. 
Getting  money  excites  him,  but  keeping  it  is  less  interesting,  and 
one  sees  not  seldom  the  richest  men  taking  elaborate  precautions 
that  only  a  small  part  of  their  money  shall  fall  to  their  children, 
because  they  think  that  the  possession  of  money  which  is  not 
self-earned  is  not  a  blessing:  From  these  motives  one  may  un- 
derstand at  once  the  magnificent  generosity  shown  toward  public 
enterprises. 

Public  munificence  cannot  well  be  gauged  by  statistics,  and 
especially  not  in  America.  Most  of  the  gifts  are  made  quietly,  and 
of  course  the  small  gifts  which  are  never  heard  about  outweigh 
the  larger  ones;  and,  nevertheless,  one  can  have  a  fair  idea  of 
American  generosity  by  considering  only  the  large  gifts  made 
for  public  ends.  If  we  consider  only  the  gifts  of  money  which 
are  greater  than  one  thousand  dollars,  and  which  go  to  public 
institutions,  we  have  in  the  year  1903  the  pretty  sum  of  $76,935,000. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  all  the  gifts  under  one  thousand 
dollars  would  make  an  equal  sum. 

Of  these  public  benefactions,  $40,700,000  went  to  educational 


THE  AMERICANS 

institutions.  In  that  year,  for  instance,  Harvard  University 
received  in  all  $5,000,000,  Columbia  University  $3,000,000,  and 
Chicage  University  over  $10,000,000;  Yale  received  $600,000, 
and  the  negro  institute  in  Tuskegee  the  same  amount;  Johns 
Hopkins  and  the  University  of  Pennsylvania  received  about  half 
of  a  million  each.  Hospitals  and  similar  institutions  were  re- 
membered with  $21,726,000;  $7,583,000  were  given  to  public 
libraries,  $3,996,000  for  religious  purposes,  and  $2,927,000  to 
museums  and  art  collections.  Any  one  who  lives  in  America 
knows  that  this  readiness  to  give  is  general,  from  the  Carnegies 
and  Rockefellers  down  to  the  working-men,  and  that  it  is  easy  to 
obtain  money  from  private  purses  for  any  good  undertaking. 

One  sees  clearly,  again,  that  the  real  attraction  which  the 
American  feels  for  money-making  does  not  lie  in  the  having  but 
only  in  the  getting,  from  the  perfect  equanimity,  positively 
amazing  to  the  European,  with  which  he  bears  his  losses.  To 
be  sure,  his  irrepressible  optimism  stands  him  in  good  stead; 
he  never  loses  hope,  but  is  confident  that  what  he  has  lost 
will  soon  be  made  up.  But  this  would  be  no  comfort  to  him 
if  he  did  not  care  much  less  for  the  possession  than  for  the  get- 
ting of  it.  The  American  chases  after  money  with  all  his  might, 
exactly  as  on  the  tennis-court  he  tries  to  hit  the  ball,  and  it  is  the 
game  he  likes  and  not  the  prize.  If  he  loses  he  does  not  feel  as 
if  he  had  lost  a  part  of  himself,  but  only  as  if  he  had  lost  the 
last  set  in  a  tournament.  When,  a  short  time  ago,  there  was  a 
terrific  crash  in  the  New  York  stock  market  and  hundreds  of  mil- 
lions were  lost,  a  leading  Parisian  paper  said :  "  If  such  a  financial 
crisis  had  happened  here  in  France,  we  should  have  had  panics, 
catastrophies,  a  slump  in  rentes,  suicides,  street  riots,  a  min- 
isterial crisis,  all  in  one  day:  while  America  is  perfectly  quiet, 
and  the  victims  of  the  battle  are  sitting  down  to  collect  their  wits. 
France  and  the  United  States  are  obviously  two  entirely  different 
worlds  in  their  civilization  and  in  their  way  of  thinking. " 

As  to  the  estimation  of  money  and  its  acquirement,  France 
and  the  United  States  are  indeed  as  far  apart  as  possible,  while 
Germany  stands  in  between.  The  Frenchman  prizes  money  as 
such;  if  he  can  get  it  without  labour,  by  inheritance  or  dowry,  or 
by  gambling,  so  much  the  better.  If  he  loses  it  he  loses  a  part 
of  himself,  and  when  he  has  earned  enough  to  be  sure  of  a 


SELF-INITIATIVE  235 

livelihood,  he  retires  from  money-making  pursuits  as  soon  as 
possible.  It  is  well  known  that  the  ambition  of  the  average 
Frenchman  is  to  be  a  rentier.  The  American  has  exactly  the 
opposite  idea.  Not  only  does  he  endure  loss  with  indifference 
and  despise  gain  which  is  not  earned,  but  he  would  not  for  any 
price  give  up  the  occupation  of  making  money.  Whether  he  has 
much  or  little,  he  keeps  patiently  at  work;  and,  as  no  scholar 
or  artist  would  ever  think  of  saying  that  he  had  done  enough 
work,  and  would  from  now  on  become  a  scientific  or  literary 
rentier  and  live  on  his  reputation,  so  no  American,  as  long  as 
he  keeps  his  health,  thinks  of  giving  up  his  regular  business. 

The  profession  of  living  from  the  income  of  investments  is 
virtually  unknown  among  men,  and  the  young  men  who  take  up 
no  money-making  profession  because  they  "  don't  need  to," 
are  able  to  retain  the  social  respect  of  their  fellows  only  by  under- 
taking some  sort  of  work  for  the  commonwealth.  A  man  who  does 
not  work  at  anything,  no  matter  how  rich  he  is,  can  neither 
get  nor  keep  a  social  status. 

This  also  indicates,  then,  that  the  American  does  not  want 
his  money  merely  as  a  means  for  material  comfort.  Of  course, 
wealthy  Americans  are  becoming  more  and  more  accustomed 
to  provide  every  thinkable  luxury  for  their  wives  and  daughters. 
Nowhere  is  so  much  expended  for  dresses,  jewelry,  equi- 
pages and  service,  for  country  houses  and  yachts,  works  of  art 
and  private  libraries;  and  many  men  have  to  keep  pretty  steadily 
at  work  year  in  and  year  out  in  order  to  meet  their  heavy  expen- 
ditures. And  the  same  thing  is  repeated  all  down  the  social 
scale.  According  to  European  standards,  even  the  working-man 
lives  luxuriously.  But,  in  spite  of  this,  no  person  who  has  really 
come  into  the  country  will  deny  that  material  pleasures  are 
less  sought  after  for  themselves  in  the  New  World  than  in  the 
Old.  It  always  strikes  the  European  as  remarkable  how  very 
industrious  American  society  is,  and  how  relatively  little  bent 
on  pleasure.  It  has  often  been  said  that  the  American  has 
not  yet  learned  how  to  enjoy  life;  that  he  knows  very  well  how 
to  make  money,  but  not  how  to  enjoy  it.  And  that  is  quite  true; 
except  that  it  leaves  out  of  account  the  main  point  —  which  is, 
that  the  American  takes  the  keenest  delight  in  the  employment 
of  all  his  faculties  in  his  work,  and  in  the  exercise  of  his  own 


236  THE  AMERICANS 

initiative.  This  gives  him  more  pleasure  than  the  spending 
of  money  could  bring  him. 

It  is,  therefore,  fundamentally  false  to  stigmatize  the  American  as 
a  materialist,  and  to  deny  his  idealism.  A  people  is  supposed  to 
be  thoroughly  materialistic  when  its  sphere  of  interests  com- 
prises problems  relating  only  to  the  world  of  matter,  and 
fancies  itself  to  be  highly  idealistic  when  it  is  mainly  concerned 
with  intangible  objects.  But  this  is  a  pure  confusion  of  ideas. 
In  philosophy,  indeed,  the  distinction  between  materialistic  and 
idealistic  systems  of  thought  is  to  be  referred  to  the  importance 
ascribed  to  material  and  to  immaterial  objects.  Materialism  is, 
then,  that  pseudo-philosophical  theory  which  supposes  that  all 
reality  derives  from  the  existence  of  material  objects;  and  it  is 
an  idealistic  system  which  regards  the  existence  of  matter  as 
dependent  on  the  reality  of  thought.  But  it  is  mere  play  on 
words  to  call  nations  realistic  or  idealistic  on  the  strength  of 
these  metaphysical  conceptions,  instead  of  using  the  words  in 
their  social  and  ethical  significations.  For  in  the  ethical  world  a 
materialistic  position  would  be  one  in  which  the  aim  of  life  was 
enjoyment,  while  that  point  of  view  would  be  idealistic  which 
found  its  motive  not  in  the  pleasant  consequences  of  the  deed,  but 
in  the  value  of  the  deed  itself. 

If  we  hold  fast  to  the  meaning  of  materialism  and  idealism  in 
this  ethical  sense,  we  shall  see  clearly  that  it  is  entirely  indifferent 
whether  the  people  who  have  these  diametrically  opposed  views 
of  life  are  themselves  busy  with  tangible  or  with  intangible  things. 
The  man  who  looks  at  life  materialistically  acts,  not  for  the  act  itself, 
but  for  the  comfortable  consequences  which  that  act  may  have; 
and  these  consequences  may  satisfy  the  selfish  pleasure  as  well  if 
they  are  immaterial  as  if  they  are  material  objects.  It  is  indifferent 
whether  he  works  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  appetites,  for  the 
hoarding  up  of  treasures,  or  for  the  gratification  to  be  found  in 
politics,  science,  and  art.  He  is  still  a  materialist  so  long  as  he 
has  not  devotion,  so  long  as  he  uses  art  only  as  a  means  to 
pleasure,  science  only  as  a  source  of  fame,  politics  as  a  source 
of  power  ;  and,  in  general,  so  long  as  the  labour  that  he  does  is 
only  the  means  to  an  end.  But  the  man  who  is  an  idealist  in 
life  acts  because  he  believes  in  the  value  of  the  deed.  It  makes 
no  difference  to  him  whether  he  is  working  on  material  or  intel- 


SELF-INITIATIVE  237 

lectual  concerns  ;  whether  he  speaks  or  rhymes,  paints,  governs, 
or  judges;  or  whether  he  builds  bridges  and  railroad  tracks, 
drains  swamps  and  irrigates  deserts,  delves  into  the  earth,  or 
harnesses  the  forces  of  nature.  In  this  sense  the  culture  of  the 
Old  World  threatens  at  a  thousand  points  to  become  crassly  ma- 
terialistic, and  not  least  of  all  just  where  it  most  loudly  boasts 
of  intellectual  wealth  and  looks  down  with  contempt  on  everything 
which  is  material.  And  in  this  sense  the  culture  of  the  New 
World  is  growing  to  the  very  purest  idealism,  and  by  no  means 
least  where  it  is  busy  with  problems  of  the  natural  world  of 
matter,  and  where  it  is  heaping  up  economic  wealth. 

This  is  the  main  point:  The  economic  life  means  to  the 
American  a  realizing  of  efforts  which  are  in  themselves  precious. 
It  is  not  the  means  to  an  end,  but  is  its  own  end.  If  two  blades  of 
grass  grow  where  one  grew  before,  or  two  railroad  tracks  where 
there  was  but  one;  if  production,  exchange,  and  commerce  increase 
and  undertaking  thrives,  then  life  is  created,  and  this  is,  in  itself, 
a  precious  thing.  The  European  of  the  Continent  esteems  the 
industrial  life  as  honest,  but  not  as  noble;  economic  activities 
seem  to  him  good  for  supporting  himself  and  his  family,  but  his 
duty  is  merely  to  supply  economic  needs  which  are  now  exist- 
ing. 

The  merchant  in  Europe  does  not  feel  himself  to  be  a  free 
creator  like  the  artist  or  scholar:  he  is  no  discoverer,  no  maker; 
and  the  mental  energy  which  he  expends  he  feels  to  be  spent 
in  serving  an  inferior  purpose,  which  he  serves  only  because 
he  has  to  live.  That  creating  economic  values  can  itself  be  the 
very  highest  sort  of  accomplishment,  and  in  itself  alone  desirable, 
whether  or  not  it  is  useful  for  the  person  who  creates,  and  that  it  is 
great  in  itself  to  spread  and  increase  the  life  of  the  national  eco- 
nomic organization,  has  been,  indeed,  felt  by  many  great  merchants 
in  the  history  of  Europe,  and  many  a  Hanseatic  leader  realizes  it 
to-day.  But  the  whole  body  of  people  in  Europe  does  not  know 
this,  while  America  is  thoroughly  filled  with  the  idea.  Just  as 
Hutten  once  cried:  "  Jahrhundert,  es  ist  eine  Lust,  in  dir  zu  leben: 
die  Wissenschaften  und  die  Kunste  bluhen,"  so  the  American 
might  exclaim:  It  is  a  pleasure  to  live  in  our  day  and  generation; 
industry  and  commerce  now  do  thrive.  Every  individual  feels 
himself  exalted  by  being  a  part  of  such  a  mighty  whole,  and  the 


238  THE  AMERICANS 

general  intellectual  effects  cf  this  temper  show  themselves  in  the 
entire  national  life. 

A  nation  can  never  do  its  best  in  any  direction  unless  it  believes 
thoroughly  in  the  intrinsic  value  of  its  work;  whatever  is  done 
merely  through  necessity  is  never  of  great  national  significance, 
and  second-rate  men  never  achieve  the  highest  things.  If  the 
first  minds  of  a  nation  look  down  with  contempt  on  economic 
life,  if  there  is  no  real  belief  in  the  ideal  value  of  industry,  and 
if  creative  minds  hold  aloof  from  it,  that  nation  will  necessarily 
be  outdone  by  others  in  the  economic  field.  But  where  the  ablest 
strength  engages  with  idealistic  enthusiasm  in  the  service  of  the 
national  economic  problems,  the  nation  rewards  what  the  people 
do  as  done  in  the  name  of  civilization,  and  the  love  of  fame  and 
work  together  spur  them  on  more  than  the  material  gain  which 
they  will  get.  Indeed,  this  gain  is  itself  only  their  measure  of 
success  in  the  service  of  civilization. 

The  American  merchant  works  for  money  in  exactly  the  sense 
that  a  great  painter  works  for  money;  the  high  price  which  is 
paid  for  his  picture  is  a  very  welcome  indication  of  the  general 
appreciation  of  his  art:  but  he  would  never  get  this  appreciation 
if  he  were  working  for  the  money  instead  of  his  artistic  ideals. 
Economically  to  open  up  this  gigantic  country,  to  bring  the 
fields  and  forests,  rivers  and  mountains  into  the  service  of  %conomic 
progress,  to  incite  the  millions  of  inhabitants  to  have  new  needs 
and  to  satisfy  these  by  their  own  resourcefulness,  to  increase 
the  wealth  of  the  nation,  and  finally  economically  to  rule  the 
world  and  within  the  nation  itself  to  raise  the  economic  power 
of  the  individual  to  undreamt-of  importance,  has  been  the  work 
which  has  fascinated  the  American.  And  every  individual 
has  felt  his  co-operation  to  be  ennobled  by  his  firm  belief  in  the 
value  of  such  an  aim  for  the  culture  of  the  world. 

To  find  one's  self  in  the  service  of  this  work  of  progress  attracts 
even  the  small  boy.  As  a  German  boy  commences  early  to  write 
verses  6r  draw  little  sketches,  in  America  the  young  farmer  lad  or 
city  urchin  tries  to  come  somehow  into  this  national,  industrial  activ- 
ity; and  whether  he  sells  newspapers  on  the  street  or  milks  the  cow 
on  a  neighbour's  farm,  he  is  proud  of  the  few  cents  which  he 
brings  home  —  not  because  it  is  money,  but  because  he  has  earned 
it,  and  the  coins  are  the  only  possible  proof  that  his  activities 


SELF-INITIATIVE  239 

have  contributed  to  the  economic  life  of  his  country.  It  is  this 
alone  which  spurs  him  on  and  fills  him  with  ambition;  and  if  the 
young  newspaper  boy  becomes  a  great  railroad  president,  or  the 
farmer's  lad  a  wealthy  factory  owner,  and  both,  although  worth 
their  millions,  still  work  on  from  morning  till  night  consumed  by 
the  thought  of  adding  to  the  economic  life  of  their  nation,  and  to 
this  end  undertake  all  sorts  of  new  enterprises,  the  labour  itself 
has  been,  from  beginning  to  end,  its  own  reward.  The  content 
of  such  a  man's  life  is  the  work  of  economic  progress. 

Men  who  have  so  felt  have  made  the  nation  great,  and  no 
American  would  admit  that  a  man  who  gave  his  life  to  government 
or  to  law,  to  art  or  science,  would  be  able  to  make  his  life  at  all 
more  significant  or  valuable 'for  the  ends  of  culture.  This  is 
not  materialism.  Thus  it  happens  that  the  most  favoured  youths, 
the  socially  most  competent  talents,  go  into  economic  life,  and  the 
sons  of  the  best  families,  after  their  course  at  the  university,  step 
enthusiastically  into  the  business  house.  One  can  see  merely 
from  ordinary  conversation  how  thoroughly  the  value  of  economic 
usefulness  is  impressed  on  the  people.  They  speak  in  America 
of  industrial  'movements  with  as  much  general  interest  as  one 
would  find  manifested  in  Europe  over  politics,  science,  or  art. 
Men  who  do  not  themselves  anticipate  buying  or  selling  securi- 
ties in  the  stock  market,  nevertheless  discuss  the  rise  and  fall 
of  various  industrial  and  railroad  shares  as  they  would  discuss 
Congressional  debates;  and  any  new  industrial  undertaking  in  a 
given  city  fills  the  citizens  with  pride,  as  may  be  gathered  from 
their  chance  conversations. 

The  central  point  of  this  whole  activity  is,  therefore,  not  greed, 
nor  the  thought  of  money,  but  the  spirit  of  self-initiative.  It  is 
not  surprising  that  this  has  gone  through  such  a  lively  develop- 
ment. Just  as  the  spirit  of  self-determination  was  the  product 
of  Colonial  days,  so  the  spirit  of  self-initiative  is  the  necessary 
outcome  of  pioneer  life.  The  men  who  came  over  to  the  New 
World  expected  to  battle  with  the  natural  elements;  and  even 
where  nature  had  lavished  her  treasures,  these  had  still  to  be 
conquered;  the  forests  must  be  felled  and  the  marshes  drained. 
Indeed,  the  very  spot  to  which  the  economic  world  comes  to- 
day to  celebrate  the  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  Louisiana 
Purchase,  the  city  of  St.  Louis,  which  has  to-day  8,000  fac- 


24.0  THE  AMERICANS 

tories,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  was  three  generations  ago  a 
wilderness. 

From  the  days  when  the  first  pioneers  journeyed  inland  from 
the  coast,  to  the  time,  over  two  hundred  years  later,  when  the 
railroad  tracks  were  carried  over  the  Rocky  Mountains  from  the 
Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  Ocean,  the  history  of  the  nation  has  been 
of  a  long  struggle  with  nature  and  of  hard-earned  conquests;  and 
for  many  years  this  fight  was  carried  on  by  men  who  toiled 
single-handed,  as  it  were  —  by  thousands  of  pioneers  working  all 
at  once,  but  far  apart.  The  man  who  could  not  hold  out  under 
protracted  labour  was  lost;  but  the  difficulty  of  the  task  spurred 
on  the  energies  of  the  strong  and  developed  the  spirit  of  self- 
initiative  to  the  utmost.  It  was  fortunate  that  the  men  who  came 
over  to  undertake  this  work  had  been  in  a  way  selected  for  it :  for 
only  those  who  had  resolution  had  ventured  to  leave  their  native 
hearth-stones.  Only  the  most  energetic  risked  the  voyage  across 
the  ocean  in  those  times,  and  this  desire  to  be  up  and  doing  found 
complete  satisfaction  in  the  New  World;  for,  as  Emerson  said: 
"America  is  another  name  for  opportunity." 

The  heritage  of  the  pioneer  days  cannot  vanish,  even  under  the 
present  changed  conditions.  This  desire  to  realize  one's  self  by 
being  economically  busied  is  indeed  augmented  to-day  by  many 
other  considerations.  Both  the  political  and  the  social  life  of  the 
democracy  demand  equality,  and  therefore  exclude  all  social 
classes,  and  titles,  and  all  honourary  political  distinctions.  Now, 
such  uniformity  would,  of  course,  be  unendurable  in  a  society 
which  had  no  real  distinctions,  and  therefore  inevitably  such 
distinguishing  factors  as  are  not  excluded  come  to  be  more  and 
more  important.  A  distinction  between  classes  on  the  basis 
of  property  can  be  met  in  monarchial  countries  by  a  distinction 
in  title  and  family,  and  so  made  at  least  very  much  less  im- 
portant than  in  democratic  nations.  And  thus  it  necessarily 
comes  about  that,  where  an  official  differentiation  is  objected 
to  on  principle,  wealth  is  sought  as  a  means  to  such  discrimi- 
nation. In  the  United  States,  however,  wealth  has  this  great 
significance  only  because  it  is  felt  to  measure  the  individual's 
successful  initiative;  and  the  simple  equation  between  prosperity 
and  real  work  is  more  generally  recognized  by  the  popular  mind 
than  the  actual  conditions  justify.  Thus  it  happens  also  that  the 


SELF-INITIATIVE  241 

American  sets  his  standard  of  life  high.  He  wishes  in  this  way 
to  express  the  fact  that  he  has  passed  life's  examination  well,  that 
he  has  been  enterprising,  and  has  won  the  respect  of  those  around 
him.  This  desire  for  a  high  standard  of  living  which  springs 
from  the  intense  economic  enthusiasm  works  back  thereon,  and 
greatly  stimulates  it  once  more. 

One  of  the  first  consequences  of  this  spirit  of  initiative  is, 
that  every  sort  of  true  labour  is  naturally  respected,  and  never 
involves  any  disesteem.  In  fact,  one  sees  continually  in  this 
country  men  who  go  from  one  kind  of  labour  to  another  which, 
according  to  European  ideals,  would  be  thought  less  honourable. 
The  American  is  especially  willing  to  take  up  a  secondary  oc- 
cupation besides  his  regular  calling  in  order  to  increase  his  income, 
and  this  leads,  sometimes,  to  striking  contrasts.  Of  course  there 
are  some  limits  to  this,  and  social  etiquette  is  not  wholly  without 
influence,  although  the  American  will  seldom  admit  it.  No  one 
is  surprised  if  a  preacher  gives  up  the  ministry  in  order  to  be- 
come an  editor  or  official  in  an  industrial  organization;  but  every 
one  is  astonished  if  he  becomes  agent  for  an  insurance  company; 
amazed  if  he  goes  to  selling  a  patent  medicine,  and  would  be 
positively  scandalized  if  he  were  to  buy  a  beer-saloon. 

It  is  much  the  same  with  avocations.  If  the  student  in  the 
university  tutors  other  students,  it  is  quite  right;  if,  during  the 
university  vacation,  he  becomes  bell-boy  in  a  summer  hotel,  or 
during  the  school  year  attends  to  furnaces  in  order  to  continue 
his  studies,  people  are  sorry  that  he  has  to  do  this,  but  still 
account  him  perfectly  respectable;  but  if,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
turns  barber  or  artist's  model,  he  is  lost,  because  being  a  model 
is  passive  —  it  is  not  doing  anything;  and  cutting  hair  is  a  menial 
service,  not  compatible  with  the  dignity  of  the  student.  And 
thus  it  is  that  the  social  feeling  in  the  New  World  practically 
corrects  the  theoretical  maxims  as  to  the  equal  dignity  of  every 
kind  of  labour,  although,  indeed,  such  maxims  are  very  much 
more  generally  recognized  than  in  the  Old  World.  And  every- 
where the  deciding  principle  of  differentiation  is  the  matter  of 
self-initiative. 

The  broadly  manifest  social  equality  of  the  country,  of  which 
we  shall  have  to  speak  more  minutely  in  another  connection, 
would  be  actually  impossible  if  this  belief  in  the  equivalence  of 


242  THE  AMERICANS 

all  kinds  of  work  did  not  rule  the  national  mind.  Whether  the 
work  brings  much  or  little,  or  requires  much  or  little  prepa- 
ration, is  thought  to  be  unimportant  in  determining  a  man's  status; 
but  it  is  important  that  his  life  involves  initiative,  or  that  he 
not  merely  passively  exists. 

A  people  which  places  industrial  initiative  so  high  must  be 
industrious;  and,  in  fact,  there  is  no  profounder  impression  to  be 
had  than  that  the  whole  population  is  busily  at  work,  and  that 
all  pleasures  and  everything  which  presupposes  an  idle  moment 
are  there  merely  to  refresh  people  and  prepare  them  for  more 
work.  In  order  to  be  permanently  industrious,  a  man  has  to 
learn  best  how  to  utilize  his  powers;  and  just  in  this  respect 
the  American  nation  has  gone  ahead  of  every  other  people. 
Firstly,  it  is  sober.  A  man  who  takes  liquor  in  the  early  part 
of  the  day  cannot  accomplish  the  greatest  amount  of  work. 
When  the  American  is  working  he  does  not  touch  alcohol  until 
the  end  of  the  day,  and  this  is  as  true  of  the  millionaire  and  bank 
president  as  of  the  labourer  or  conductor.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
American  workman  knows  that  only  a  well-nourished  body  can 
do  the  most  work,  and  what  the  workman  saves  by  not  buying 
beer  and  brandy  he  puts  into  roast  beef.  It  has  often  been 
observed,  and  especially  remarked  on  by  German  observers, 
that  in  spite  of  his  extraordinary  tension,  the  American  never 
overdoes.  The  working-man  in  the  factory,  for  example,  seldom 
perspires  at  his  work.  This  comes  from  a  knowledge  of  how 
to  work  so  as  in  the  end  to  get  out  of  one's  self  the  greatest 
possible  amount. 

Very  much  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  admirable  way  in 
which  the  Americans  make  the  most  of  their  time.  Superficial 
observers  have  often  supposed  the  American  to  be  always  in  a  hur- 
ry, whereas  the  opposite  is  the  case.  The  man  who  has  to  hurry 
has  badly  disposed  of  his  time,  and,  therefore,  has  not  the  necessary 
amount  to  finish  any  one  piece  of  work.  The  American  is  never 
in  a  hurry,  but  he  so  disposes  his  precious  time  that  nothing  shall 
be  lost.  He  will  not  wait  nor  be  a  moment  idle;  one  thing  fol- 
lows closely  after  another,  and  with  admirable  precision;  each 
task  is  finished  in  its  turn;  appointments  are  made  and  kept  on 
the  minute;  and  the  result  is,  that  not  only  no  unseemly  haste 
is  necessary,  but  also  there  is  time  for  everything.  It  is  aston- 


SELF-INITIATIVE  243 

ishing  how  well-known  men  in  political,  economic,  or  intellectual 
life,  who  are  loaded  with  a  thousand  responsibilities  and  an 
apparently  unreasonable  amount  of  work,  have,  by  dint  of  the 
wonderful  disposition  of  their  own  time  and  that  of  their  as- 
sistants, really  enough  for  everything  and  even  to  spare. 

Among  the  many  things  for  which  the  American  has  time, 
by  reason  of  his  economical  management  of  it,  are  even  some 
which  seem  unnecessary  for  a  busy  man.  He  expends,  for  ex- 
ample, an  extraordinary  large  fraction  of  his  time  in  attending 
to  his  costume  and  person,  in  sport,  and  in  reading  newspapers, 
so  that  the  notion  which  is  current  in  Europe  that  the  American 
is  not  only  always  in  a  hurry,  but  has  time  for  nothing  outside  of 
his  work,  is  entirely  wrong. 

This  saving  of  strength  by  the  proper  disposal  of  time  cor- 
responds to  a  general  practicality  in  every  sort  of  work.  Bus- 
iness is  carried  on  in  a  business-like  way.  The  banker,  whose 
residence  is  rilled  with  sumptuous  treasures  of  art,  allows  nothing 
unpractical  to  come  into  his  office  for  the  sake  of  adornment.  A 
certain  strict  application  to  duty  is  the  feeling  one  gets  from  every 
work-room;  and  while  the  foreigner  feels  a  certain  barrenness 
about  it,  the  American  feels  that  anything  different  shows  a  lack 
of  earnestness  and  practical  good  sense.  The  extreme  punctu- 
ality with  which  the  American  handles  his  correspondence  is 
typical  of  him.  Statistics  show  that  no  other  country  in  the 
world  sends  so  many  letters  for  every  inhabitant,  and  every  busi- 
ness letter  is  replied  to  on  the  same  day  with  matter-of-fact 
conciseness.  It  is  like  a  tremendous  apparatus  that  accomplishes 
the  greatest  labour  with  the  least  friction,  by  means  of  the  precise 
adaptation  of  part  to  part. 

A  nation  which  is  after  self-initiative  must  inspire  the  spirit 
of  initiative  in  every  single  co-operator.  Nothing  is  more  char- 
acteristic of  this  economic  body  than  the  intensity  with  which 
each  workman  —  taking  the  word  in  its  broadest  sense  —  thinks 
and  acts  for  himself.  In  this  respect,  too,  outsiders  often  mis- 
understand the  situation.  One  hears  often  from  travellers  in 
America  that  the  country  must  be  dwarfing  to  the  intelligence 
of  its  workmen,  because  it  uses  so  much  machinery  that  the  in- 
dividual workman  comes  to  see  only  a  small  part  of  what  is  being 
done  in  the  factory  and,  so  to  say,  works  the  same  identical  lever 


244  rHE  AMERICANS 

for  life.  He  operates  always  a  certain  small  part  of  some  other 
part  of  the  whole.  Nothing  could  be  less  exact,  and  a  person 
who  comes  to  such  a  conclusion  is  not  aware  that  even  the  small- 
est duties  are  extremely  complex,  and  that,  therefore,  special- 
ization does  not  at  all  introduce  an  undesirable  uniformity  in 
labour.  It  is  specialization  on  the  one  hand  which  guarantees  the 
highest  mastery,  and  on  the  other  lets  the  workman  see  even 
more  the  complexity  of  what  is  going  on,  and  inspires  him  to 
get  a  full  comprehension  of  the  thing  in  hand  and  perhaps  to 
suggest  a  few  improvements. 

Any  man  who  is  at  all  concerned  with  the  entire  field  of  opera- 
tions, or  who  is  moving  constantly  from  one  special  process  to 
another,  can  never  come  to  that  fully  absorbed  state  of  the  at- 
tention which  takes  cognizance  of  the  slightest  detail.  Only  the 
man  who  has  concentrated  himself  and  specialized,  learns  to  note 
fine  details;  and  it  is  only  in  this  way  that  he  becomes  so  much 
a  master  in  his  special  department  that  any  one  else  who  attempts 
to  direct  him  succeeds  merely  in  interfering  and  spoiling  the 
output.  In  short,  such  a  workman  is  face  to  face  with  intricate 
natural  processes,  and  is  learning  straight  from  nature.  It  is 
in  the  matter  of  industrial  technique  exactly  as  in  science.  A 
person  not  acquainted  with  science  finds  it  endlessly  monotonous, 
and  cannot  understand  how  a  person  should  spend  his  whole 
life  studying  beetles  or  deciphering  Assyrian  inscriptions.  But 
a  man  who  knows  the  method  of  science  realizes  that  the  narrower 
a  field  of  study  becomes,  the  more  full  of  variety  and  unexpected 
beauties  it  is  found  to  be.  The  triumph  of  technical  special- 
ization in  America  lies  just  in  this.  If  a  single  man  works  at  some 
special  part  of  some  special  detail  of  an  industrial  process,  he 
more  and  more  comes  to  find  in  his  narrow  province  an  amazing 
intricacy  which  the  casual  observer  looking  on  cannot  even  sus- 
pect; and  only  the  man  who  sees  this  complexity  is  able  to  discover 
new  processes  and  improvements  on  the  old.  So  it  is  that  the 
specialized  workman  is  he  who  constantly  contributes  to  perfect 
technique,  proposes  modifications,  and  in  general  exercises  all  the 
intelligence  he  has,  in  order  to  bring  himself  on  in  his  profession. 
Just  as  we  have  seen  how  the  spirit  of  self-determination  which 
resides  at  the  periphery  of  the  body  politic  has  been  the  peculiar 
strength  of  American  political  life,  so  this  free  initiative  in  the 


SELF-INITIATIVE  245 

periphery,  this  economic  resourcefulness  of  the  narrow  specialists, 
is  the  peculiar  strength  of  all  American  industry. 

The  spirit  of  self-initiative  does  not  know  pettiness.  Any  one 
who  goes  into  economic  life  merely  for  the  sake  of  what  he  can 
get  out  of  it,  thinks  it  clever  to  gain  small,  unfair  profits;  but 
whosoever  views  his  industry  in  a  purely  idealistic  spirit,  and 
really  has  some  inner  promptings,  is  filled  with  an  interest  in  the 
whole  play  —  sees  an  economic  gain  in  anything  which  profits 
both  capital  and  labour,  and  only  there,  and  so  has  a  large  outlook 
even  within  his  narrow  province.  The  Americans  constantly  com- 
plain of  the  economic  smallness  of  Europe,  and  even  the  well- 
informed  leaders  of  American  industry  freely  assert  that  the 
actual  advance  in  American  economic  culture  does  not  lie  in  the 
natural  resources  of  the  country,  but  rather  in  the  broad,  free 
initiative  of  the  American  people.  The  continental  Europeans, 
it  is  said,  frustrate  their  own  economic  endeavours  by  being 
penny-wise  and  observant  of  detail  in  the  wrong  place,  and  by 
lacking  the  courage  to  launch  big  undertakings.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  it  was  the  lavishness  of  nature  which  firstly  set  Ameri- 
can initiative  at  work  on  a  broad  scale.  The  boundless  prairies  and 
towering  mountains  which  the  pioneers  saw  before  them  inspired 
them  to  undertake  great  things,  and  to  overlook  small  hindrances, 
and  in  laying  out  their  first  plans  to  overlook  small  details. 
American  captains  of  industry  often  say  that  they  purposely  pay 
no  attention  to  a  good  many  European  methods,  because  they 
find  such  pedantic  endeavour  to  economize  and  to  achieve  minute 
perfections  to  be  wasteful  of  time  and  unprofitable. 

The  same  spirit  is  found,  as  well,  in  fields  other  than  the  in- 
dustrial. When  the  American  travels  he  prefers  to  pay  out 
round  sums  rather  than  to  haggle  over  the  price  of  things,  even 
although  he  pays  considerably  more  thereby  than  he  otherwise 
would.  And  nothing  makes  him  more  angry  than  to  find  that 
instead  of  stating  a  high  price  at  the  outset,  the  person  with 
whom  he  is  dealing  ekes  out  his  profit  by  small  additional  charges. 
This  large  point  of  view  involves  such  a  contempt  of  petty  detail 
as  to  astonish  Europeans.  Machines  costing  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  dollars,  which  were  new  yesterday,  are  discarded  to- 
day, because  some  improvement  has  been  discovered;  and  the 
best  is  everywhere  found  none  too  good  to  be  used  in  this  mag- 


246  THE  AMERICANS 

nificent  industrial  system.  If  the  outlay  is  to  correspond  to  the 
result,  there  must  be  no  parsimony. 

A  similar  trait  is  revealed  in  the  way  in  which  every  man 
behaves  toward  his  neighbour.  It  is  only  the  petty  man  who  is  envi- 
ous, and  envy  is  a  word  which  is  not  found  in  the  American  vocab- 
ulary. If  one's  own  advantage  is  not  the  goal,  but  general 
economic  progress,  then  the  success  of  another  man  is  almost 
as  great  a  pleasure  as  one's  own  success.  It  is  for  the  American 
an  aesthetic  delight  to  observe,  and  in  spirit  to  co-operate  with 
economic  progress  all  along  the  line;  and  the  more  others  accom- 
plish the  more  each  one  realizes  the  magnificence  of  the  whole 
industrial  life.  Men  try  to  excel  one  another,  as  they  have  to 
do  wherever  there  is  free  competition;  and  such  rivalry  is  the  best 
and  surest  condition  for  economic  progress.  Americans  use  every 
means  in  their  power  to  succeed,  but  if  another  man  comes  out 
ahead  they  neither  grumble  nor  indulge  in  envy,  but  rather 
gather  their  strength  for  a  new  effort.  Even  this  economic 
struggle  is  carried  on  in  the  spirit  of  sport.  The  fight  itself  is 
the  pleasure.  The  chess-player  who  is  checkmated  in  an  ex- 
citing game  is  not  sorry  that  he  played,  and  does  not  envy  the 
winner. 

This  conviction,  that  one  neither  envies  nor  is  envied,  where- 
by all  competitive  struggle  comes  to  be  pervaded  with  a  certain 
spirit  of  co-operation,  ennobles  all  industrial  activities,  and  the 
immediate  effect  is  a  feeling  of  mutual  confidence.  The  degree 
to  which  Americans  trust  one  another  is  by  no  means  realized  on 
the  European  Continent.  A  man  relies  on  the  self-respect  of  his 
commercial  associates  in  a  way  which  seems  to  the  European 
mind  almost  fatuous,  and  yet  herein  lies  just  the  strength  and 
security  of  the  economic  life  of  this  country. 

It  is  interesting,  in  a  recently  published  harangue  against  the 
Standard  Oil  Company,  to  read  what  a  high-handed,  Napoleonic 
policy  Rockefeller  has  pursued,  and  then,  in  the  midst  of  the 
fierce  accusations,  to  find  it  stated  that  agreements  involving 
millions  of  dollars  and  the  economic  fate  of  thousands  of  people 
were  made  merely  orally.  All  his  confederates  took  the  word 
of  Rockefeller  to  be  as  good  as  his  written  contract,  and  such 
mutual  confidence  is  everywhere  a  matter  of  course,  whether  it 
is  a  millionaire  who  agrees  to  pay  out  a  fortune  or  a  street  urchin 


SELF-INITIATirE  247 

who  goes  off  to  change  five  cents.  Just  as  public,  so  also  commer- 
cial, affairs  get  on  with  very  few  precautions,  and  every  man 
takes  his  neighbour's  check  as  the  equivalent  of  money.  The 
whole  economic  life  reveals  everywhere  the  profoundest  con- 
fidence; and  undoubtedly  this  circumstance  has  contributed, 
more  than  almost  anything  else,  to  the  successful  growth  of  large 
organizations  in  America. 

The  spirit  of  self-initiative  goes  out  in  another  direction.  It 
makes  the  American  optimistic,  and  so  sure  of  success  that  no 
turn  of  fortune  can  discourage  him.  And  such  an  optimism  is  nec- 
essary to  the  man  who  undertakes  great  enterprises.  It  was 
an  undertaking  to  cross  the  ocean,  and  another  to  press  on  from 
the  coast  to  the  interior;  it  was  an  undertaking  to  bring  nature 
to  terms,  to  conjure  up  civilization  in  a  wild  country,  and  to 
overcome  enemies  on  all  hands;  and  yet  everything  has  seemed  to 
succeed.  With  the  expansion  of  the  country  has  grown  the 
individual's  love  of  expansion,  his  delight  in  undertaking  new 
enterprises,  not  merely  to  hold  his  own,  but  to  go  on  and  to  stake 
his  honour  and  fortune  and  entire  personality  in  the  hope  of 
realizing  something  as  yet  hardly  dreamed  of.  Any  Yankee  is  in- 
toxicated with  the  idea  of  succeeding  in  a  new  enterprise;  he  plans 
such  things  at  his  desk  in  school,  and  the  more  venturesome 
they  are  the  more  he  is  fascinated. 

Nothing  is  more  characteristic  of  this  adventurous  spirit  than 
the  way  in  which  American  railroads  have  been  projected.  In 
other  countries  railroads  are  built  to  connect  towns  which  already 
exist.  In  America  the  railroad  has  created  new  towns;  the 
engineer  and  capitalist  have  not  laid  their  tracks  merely  where 
the  land  was  already  tilled,  but  in  every  place  where  they  could 
foresee  that  a  population  could  support  itself.  At  first  came  the 
railroad,  and  then  the  men  to  support  it.  The  freight  car  came 
first,  and  then  the  soil  was  exploited  and  made  to  supply  the 
freight.  Western  communities  have  almost  all  grown  up  around 
the  railway  stations.  To  be  sure,  every  railway  company  has 
done  this  in  its  own  interest,  but  the  whole  undertaking  has  been 
immediately  productive  of  new  civilization. 

Any  person  who  optimistically  believes  that  a  problem  has  only 
to  be  discovered  in  order  to  be  solved,  will  be  sure  to  develop  that 
intellectual  quality  which  has  always  characterized  the  American : 


248  THE  AMERICANS 

the  spirit  of  invention.  There  is  no  other  country  in  the 
world  where  so  much  is  invented.  This  is  shown  not  merely  in 
the  fact  that  an  enormous  number  of  patents  is  granted  every 
year,  but  also  where  there  is  nothing  to  patent,  the  Yankee  ex- 
ercises his  ingenuity  every  day.  From  the  simplest  tool  up  to 
the  most  complicated  machine,  American  invention  has  improved 
and  perfected,  and  made  the  theoretically  correct  practically  ser- 
viceable as  well.  To  be  sure,  the  cost  of  human  labour  in  a  thinly 
settled  country  has  had  a  great  influence  on  this  development; 
but  a  special  talent  also  has  lain  in  this  direction  —  a  real  genius 
for  solving  practical  problems.  Every  one  knows  how  much  the 
American  has  contributed  to  the  perfection  of  the  telegraph, 
telephone,  incandescent  light,  phonograph  and  sewing-machine, 
to  watch-making  machinery,  to  the  steamboat  and  locomotive, 
the  printing-press  and  typewriter,  to  machinery  for  mining  and 
engineering,  and  to  all  sorts  of  agricultural  and  manufacturing 
devices.  Invention  and  enterprise  are  seen  working  together  in 
the  fact  that  every  new  machine,  with  all  its  improvements,  goes 
at  once  to  every  part  of  the  country.  Every  farmer  in  the  farthest 
West  wants  the  latest  agricultural  machinery;  every  artisan  adopts 
the  newest  improvements;  in  every  office  the  newest  and  most 
approved  telegraphic  and  telephonic  appliances  are  used;  in 
short,  every  man  appropriates  the  very  latest  devices  to  further 
his  own  success.  Of  course,  in  this  way  the  commercial  value 
of  every  improvement  is  greatly  increased,  and  this  encourages 
the  inventor  to  still  further  productiveness.  It  so  happens  that 
larger  sums  of  money  are  lavished  in  perfect  good  faith  in  order 
to  solve  certain  problems  than  any  European  could  imagine. 
If  an  inventor  can  convince  a  company  that  his  principle  is  sound, 
the  company  is  ready  to  advance  millions  of  dollars  for  new 
experiments  until  the  machine  is  perfected. 

The  extraordinarily  wide  adoption  of  every  invention  does 
not  mean  that  most  inventions  are  made  by  such  men  as  Edison 
and  Bell  and  their  colleagues.  Every  factory  workman  is  quite 
as  much  concerned  to  improve  the  tools  which  his  nation  uses, 
and  every  artisan  at  his  bench  is  busy  thinking  out  this  or  that 
little  change  in  a  process  or  method;  and  many  of  them,  after 
their  work,  frequent  the  public  libraries  in  order  to  work  through 
technical  books  and  the  Patent  Reports.  It  is  no  wonder  that  an 


SELF-INITIATIVE  249 

American  manufacturer,  on  hearing  that  a  new  machine  had 
been  discovered  in  Europe,  conservatively  declared  that  he  did 
not  know  what  the  machine  was,  but  knew  for  sure  that  America 
would  improve  on  it. 

Only  one  consequence  of  the  spirit  of  self-initiative  remains 
to  be  spoken  of — the  absolute  demand  for  open  competition. 
In  order  to  exercise  initiative,  a  man  must  have  absolutely  free 
play;  and  if  he  believes  in  the  intrinsic  value  of  economic  culture, 
he  will  be  convinced  that  free  play  for  the  development  of  in- 
dustrial power  is  abstractly  and  entirely  right.  This  does  not 
wholly  exclude  an  artificial  protection  of  certain  economic  institu- 
tions which  are  weak  —  as,  for  instance,  the  protection  of  certain 
industries  by  means  of  a  high  tariff" —  so  long  as  in  every  line  all  men 
are  free  to  compete  with  one  another.  Monopoly  is  the  only 
thing — because  it  strangles  competition — which  offends  the  in- 
stinct of  the  American;  and  in  this  respect  American  law  goes 
further  than  a  European  would  expect.  One  might  suppose 
that,  believing  as  they  do  in  free  initiative,  Americans  would 
claim  the  right  of  making  such  industrial  combinations  as  they 
liked.  When  several  parallel  railroads,  which  traverse  several 
states  and  compete  severely  with  one  another,  finally  make  a 
common  agreement  to  maintain  prices,  they  seem  at  first  sight  to 
be  exercising  a  natural  privilege.  The  traffic  which  suffers  no 
longer  by  competition  is  handled  at  a  less  expense  by  this  con- 
solidation, and  so  the  companies  themselves  and  the  travelling 
public  are  both  benefited.  But  the  law  of  the  United  States 
takes  a  different  point  of  view.  The  average  American  is  sus- 
picious of  a  monopoly,  even  when  it  is  owned  by  the  state  or 
city;  he  is  convinced  from  the  beginning  that  the  service  will  in 
some  way  or  other  be  inferior  to  what  it  would  be  under  free 
competition;  and  most  of  all,  he  dislikes  to  see  any  industrial 
province  hedged  in  so  that  competitors  are  no  longer  free  to 
come  in.  The  reason  why  the  trusts  have  angered  and  excited 
the  American  to  an  often  exaggerated  degree  is,  that  they  approach 
perilously  near  to  being  monopolies. 

This  spirit  of  self-initiative  under  free  competition  exists, 
of  course,  not  alone  in  individuals.  Towns,  cities,  counties, 
and  states  evince  collectively  just  the  same  attitude;  the  same 
optimism  and  spirit  of  invention  and  initiative,  and  the  same 


250  THE  AMERICANS 

pioneer  courage,  inspire  the  collective  will  of  city  and  state. 
Especially  in  the  West,  various  cities  and  communities  do  things 
in  a  sportsman-like  way.  It  is  as  if  one  city  or  state  were  playing 
foot-ball  against  another,  and  exerting  every  effort  to  win:  and 
here  once  more  there  is  no  petty  jealousy.  It  was  from  such  an 
optimistic  spirit  of  enterprise,  certainly,  that  the  city  of  St.  Louis 
resolved  to  invite  all  the  world  to  its  exposition,  and  that  the  State 
of  Missouri  gave  its  enthusiastic  approval  and  support  to  its 
capital  city.  The  sums  to  be  laid  out  on  such  bold  undertakings 
are  put  at  a  generous  figure,  and  no  one  asks  anxiously  whether 
he  is  ready  or  able  to  undertake  such  a  thing,  but  he  is  fascinated 
by  the  thought  that  such  an  industrial  festival  around  the  cascades 
of  Forest  Park,  near  the  City  of  St.  Louis,  will  stimulate  the  whole 
industrial  life  of  the  Mississippi  Valley.  One  already  sees  that 
Missouri  is  disposed  to  become  a  Pennsylvania  of  the  West,  and 
to  develop  her  rich  resources  into  a  great  industry. 

We  must  not  suppose,  in  all  this,  that  such  a  spirit  of  initiative 
involves  no  risk,  or  that  no  disadvantages  follow  into  the  bargain. 
It  may  be  easily  predicted  that,  just  by  reason  of  the  energy  which 
is  so  intrinsic  to  it,  self-initiative  will  sometime  overstep  the  bounds 
of  peace  and  harmony.  Initiative  will  become  recklessness,  care- 
lessness of  nature,  carelessness  of  one's  neighbour,  and,  finally, 
carelessness  of  one's  self. 

A  reckless  treatment  of  nature  has,  in  fact,  characterized 
the  American  pioneer  from  the  first.  The  wealth  of  nature 
has  seemed  so  inexhaustible,  that  the  pioneers  found  it  natural 
to  draw  on  their  principal  instead  of  living  on  their  income. 
Everywhere  they  used  only  the  best  which  they  found;  they  cut 
down  the  finest  forests  first,  and  sawed  up  only  the  best  parts 
of  the  best  logs.  The  rest  was  wasted.  The  farmers  tilled  only 
the  best  soil,  and  nature  was  dismantled  and  depleted  in  a  way 
which  a  European,  who  is  accustomed  to  precaution,  finds  positive- 
ly sinful.  And  the  time  is  now  passed  when  this  can  go  on  safely. 
Good,  arable  land  can  nowhere  be  had  for  nothing  to-day;  the 
cutting  down  of  huge  forests  has  already  had  a  bad  effect  on  the 
rainfall  and  water  supply,  and  many  efforts  are  now  being  made 
to  atone  for  the  sins  of  the  past  by  protecting  and  replanting. 
Intensive  methods  are  being  introduced  in  agriculture;  but  the 
work  of  thoughtful  minds  meets  with  a  good  deal  of  resistance 


SELF-INITIATIVE  251 

in  the  recklessness  of  the  masses,  who,  so  far  as  nature  is  in 
question,  think  very  little  of  their  children's  children,  but  are 
greedy  for  instant  profits. 

The  man,  moreover,  who  ardently  desires  to  play  an  important 
part  in  industry  is  easily  tempted  to  be  indifferent  of  his  fellows. 
We  have  shown  that  an  American  is  not  jealous  or  distrustful 
of  them,  that  he  gives  and  expects  frankness,  and  that  he  respects 
their  rights.  But  when  he  once  begins  to  play,  he  wants  to  win  at 
any  cost;  and  then,  so  long  as  he  observes  the  rules  of  the  game, 
he  considers  nothing  else;  he  has  no  pity,  and  will  never  let  his 
undertaking  be  interfered  with  by  sentimental  reasons.  There 
is  no  doubt  at  all  that  the  largest  American  industrial  enterprises 
have  ruined  many  promising  lives;  no  doubt  that  the  very  men 
who  give  freely  to  public  ends  have  driven  their  chariots  over 
many  industrial  corpses.  The  American,  who  is  so  incomparably 
good-natured,  amiable,  obliging,  and  high-minded,  admits  him- 
self that  he  is  sharp  in  trade,  and  that  the  American  industrial 
spirit  requires  a  sort  of  military  discipline  and  must  be  brutal. 
If  the  captain  of  industry  were  anxiously  considerate  of  persons' 
feelings,  he  would  never  have  achieved  industrial  success  any 
more  than  a  compassionate  and  tearful  army  would  win  a  victory. 

But  the  American  is  harder  on  himself  than  on  any  one  else. 
We  have  shown  how,  in  his  work,  he  conserves  his  powers  and 
utilizes  them  economically;  but  he  sets  no  bounds  to  the  in- 
tellectual strain,  the  intensity  of  his  nervous  activities,  and  only 
too  often  he  ruins  his  health  in  the  too  great  strain  which  brings 
his  success.  The  bodies  of  thousands  have  fertilized  the  soil  for 
this  great  industrial  tree  —  men  who  have  exhausted  their  power 
in  their  exaggerated  commercial  ambitions.  The  real  secret  of 
American  success  is  that,  more  than  any  other  country  in  the 
world,  she  works  with  the  young  men  and  uses  them  up.  Young 
men  are  in  all  the  important  positions  where  high  intellectual 
tension  is  required. 

In  other  directions,  too,  the  valuable  spirit  of  self-initiative 
shows  great  weaknesses  and  dangers.  The  confidence  which 
the  American  gives  his  neighbour  in  business  often  comes  to  be 
inexcusable  carelessness.  In  reading  the  exposures  made  of 
the  Ship-Building  Trust,  one  sees  how,  without  a  dishonest  in- 
tent, crimes  can  actually  be  committed  merely  through  thoughtless 


252  THE  AMERICANS 

confidence.  One  sees  that  each  one  of  the  great  capitalists  here 
involved  relied  on  the  other,  while  no  one  really  investigated  for 
himself. 

There  is  another  evil  arising  from  the  same  intense  activity, 
although,  to  be  sure,  it  is  more  a  matter  of  the  past  than  of  the 
future.  This  is  the  vulgar  display  of  wealth.  When  economic 
usefulness  is  the  main  ambition,  and  the  only  measure  of  success 
is  the  money  which  is  won,  it  is  natural  that  under  more  or  less 
primitive  social  conditions  every  one  should  wish  to  attest  his 
merits  by  displaying  wealth.  Large  diamonds  have  then  much 
the  same  function  as  titles  and  orders;  they  are  the  symbols  of 
successful  endeavour.  In  its  vulgar  form  all  such  display  is 
now  virtually  relegated  to  undeveloped  sections  of  the  country. 
In  the  parts  where  culture  is  older,  where  wealth  is  in  its  second 
or  third  generation,  every  one  knows  that  his  property  is  more 
useful  in  the  bank  than  on  his  person. 

In  spite  of  this,  the  nation  expends  an  unduly  large  part  of 
its  profits  in  personal  adornment,  in  luxuries  of  the  toilet,  in 
horses  and  carriages  and  expensive  residences.  The  American 
is  bound  to  have  the  best,  and  feels  himself  lowered  if  he  has  to  take 
the  second  best.  The  most  expensive  seats  in  an  auditorium  are 
always  the  best  filled,  and  the  opera  is  thinly  attended  only 
when  it  is  given  at  reduced  prices.  It  is  just  in  the  most  expen- 
sive hotels  that  one  has  to  engage  a  room  beforehand.  Every- 
where that  expenditure  can  be  observed  by  others,  the  American 
would  rather  renounce  a  pleasure  entirely  than  enjoy  it  in  a  modest 
way.  He  wants  to  appear  everywhere  as  a  prosperous  and  sub- 
stantial person,  and  therefore  has  a  decided  tendency  to  live 
beyond  his  means.  Extravagance  is,  therefore,  a  great  national 
trait.  Everything,  whether  large  or  small,  is  done  with  a  free 
hand.  In  the  kitchen  of  the  ordinary  man  much  is  thrown  away 
which  the  European  carefully  saves  for  his  nourishment;  and  in 
the  kitchens  of  the  government  officials  a  hundred  thousand 
cooks  are  at  work,  as  if  there  were  every  day  a  banquet.  Even 
when  the  American  economizes  he  is  fundamentally  extravagant. 
His  favourite  way  of  saving  is  by  buying  a  life  insurance  policy; 
but  when  one  sees  how  many  millions  of  dollars  such  companies 
spend  in  advertising  and  otherwise  competing  with  one  another, 
and  what  prodigious  amounts  they  take  in,  one  cannot  doubt 


SELF-INITIATIVE  253 

that  they  also  are  a  means  of  saving  for  wealthy  men,  who,  after 
after  all,  do  not  know  what  real  economy  is. 

If  the  whole  outward  life  is  pervaded  by  this  pioneer  spirit  of 
self-initiative,  there  is  another  factor  which  is  not  to  be  overlooked; 
it  is  the  neglect  of  the  aesthetic.  Any  one  who  loves  beauty 
desires  to  see  his  ideal  realized  at  the  present  moment,  and  the 
present  itself  becomes  for  him  expressive  of  the  past,  while  the 
man  whose  only  desire  is  to  be  active  as  an  economic  factor 
looks  only  into  the  future.  The  bare  present  is  almost  valueless, 
since  it  is  that  which  has  to  be  overcome;  it  is  the  material  which 
the  enterprising  spirit  has  to  shape  creatively  into  something 
else.  The  pioneer  cannot  be  interested  in  the  present  as  a 
survivor  of  the  past;  it  shows  to  him  only  that  which  is  to  do,  and 
admonishes  his  soul  to  prepare  for  new  achievement.  On 
Italian  soil  one's  eye  is  offended  by  every  false  note  in  the  general 
harmony.  The  present,  in  which  the  past  still  lives,  fills  one's  con- 
sciousness, and  the  repose  of  aesthetic  contemplation  is  the  chief 
emotion.  But  a  man  who  rushes  from  one  undertaking  to 
another  seeks  no  unity  or  harmony  in  the  present;  his  retina  is 
not  sensitive  to  ugliness,  because  his  eye  is  forever  peering  into 
the  future;  and  if  the  present  were  to  be  complete  and  finished, 
the  enterprising  spirit  would  regret  such  perfection  and  account 
it  a  loss  —  a  restriction  of  his  freedom,  an  end  to  his  creation.  It 
would  mean  mere  pleasure  and  not  action.  In  this  sense  the 
American  expresses  his  pure  idealism  in  speaking  of  the  "glory 
of  the  imperfect. " 

The  Italian  is  not  to  be  disparaged  for  being  unlike  the  Ameri- 
can and  for  letting  his  eye  rest  on  pleasing  contours  without 
asking  what  new  undertakings  could  be  devised  to  make  reality 
express  his  own  spirit  of  initiative.  One  must  also  not  blame 
the  American  if  he  does  not  scrutinize  his  vistas  with  the  eye  of  a 
Florentine,  if  he  is  not  offended  by  the  ugly  remains  of  his  nation's 
past,  the  scaffolding  of  civilization,  or  if  he  looks  at  them  with 
pride,  noting  how  restlessly  his  countrymen  have  stuck  to  their 
work  in  order  to  shape  a  future  from  the  past.  In  fact,  one  can 
hardly  take  a  step  in  the  New  World  without  everywhere  coming 
on  some  crying  contrast  between  mighty  growth  and  the  oppressive 
remains  of  outgrown  or  abortive  activities.  As  one  comes  down 
the  monumental  steps  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum,  in  which 


254.  "THE  AMERICANS 

priceless  treasures  of  art  are  collected,  one  sees  in  front  of  one  a 
wretched,  tumbled-down  hut  where  sundry  refreshments  are  sold, 
on  a  dirty  building-lot  with  a  broken  fence.  It  looks  as  if  it  had 
been  brought  from  the  annual  county  fair  of  some  remote  dis- 
trict into  this  wealthiest  street  of  the  world. 

Of  course  such  a  thing  is  strikingly  offensive,  but  it  disturbs 
only  a  person  who  is  not  looking  with  the  eye  of  the  American, 
who  can  therefore  not  understand  the  true  ethical  meaning  of 
American  culture,  its  earnest  looking  forward  into  the  future. 
If  the  incomplete  past  no  longer  met  the  American's  eye  in  all 
its  poverty  and  ugliness  and  smallness,  he  would  have  lost  the 
main-spring  of  his  life.  That  which  is  complete  does  not  in- 
terest him,  while  that  which  he  can  still  work  on  wholly  fascinates 
and  absorbs  him.  It  is  true  here,  as  in  every  department  of 
American  life,  that  superficial  polish  would  be  only  an  imitation 
of  success;  friction  and  that  which  is  aesthetically  disorganized, 
but  for  this  very  reason  ethically  valuable,  give  to  his  life  its 
significance  and  to  his  industry  its  incomparable  progress. 


CHAPTER   TWELVE 

The  Economic  Rise 

/NTROITE,  nam  et  hie  dii  sunt  —  here,  too,  the  gods  are  on 
their  throne.  The  exploiting  of  the  country,  the  opening  of 
the  mines,  the  building  of  factories  and  railroads,  trade  and 
barter,  are  not  in  question  here  as  the  mere  means  of  livelihood, 
but  as  a  spontaneous  and  creative  labour,  which  is  undertaken 
specifically  in  the  interests  of  progress.  In  this  confession 
of  faith  we  have  found  the  significance  of  American  industrial 
life,  in  the  spirit  of  self-initiative  its  greatest  strength.  Only 
such  men  as  desire  to  take  part  in  the  economic  era  of  creation, 
to  meet  their  neighbours  openly  and  trustingly  and  to  rely  on  their 
spoken  word,  in  short,  to  believe  in  the  intrinsic  worth  of  industry 
—  only  such  men  can  weave  the  wonderful  fabric  of  New  World 
industry.  A  race  of  men  carrying  on  commerce  merely  in  order 
to  live,  feeling  no  idealism  impelling  them  to  industry,  would 
never,  even  in  this  richly-endowed  America,  have  produced  such 
tangible  results  or  gained  such  power. 

Nevertheless,  the  country  itself  must  not  be  forgotten  by  reason 
of  its  inhabitants.  It  was  the  original  inducement  to  the  inhab- 
itants to  turn  so  industriously  to  the  spade  and  plough.  Where  the 
spade  has  dug,  it  has  brought  up  silver  and  gold,  coal  and  iron; 
and  where  the  plough  has  turned,  it  has  evoked  a  mammoth  growth 
of  wheat  and  corn.  Seas  and  rivers,  bays  and  mountains  have 
produced  a  happy  configuration  of  the  land  and  pointed  out 
the  routes  for  traffic;  oil-wells  have  flown  freely,  and  the  water- 
power  is  inexhaustible;  the  supply  of  fish  and  fowl,  the  harvests 
of  tropical  fruits  and  of  cotton  have  been  sufficient  to  supply 
the  world.  And  all  this  was  commenced  by  nature,  before  the 
first  American  set  his  foot  on  the  continent. 

And  while  it  was  the  lavish  hand  of  nature  which  first  brought 


256  THE  AMERICANS 

prosperity  to  the  inhabitants,  this  prosperity  became,  in  its  turn, 
a  new  stimulus  to  the  economic  exploitation  of  further  natural 
resources.  It  provided  the  capital  for  new  undertakings;  it  also 
helped  on  the  extraordinary  growth  of  economic  demand,  it 
made  the  farmer  and  the  artisan  the  best  patrons  of  thriving 
industries,  and  made  the  economic  circulatory  system  pulsate 
with  increasing  strength  through  the  national  organization. 

There  are,  besides  the  purely  economic  conditions,  certain 
political  and  administrative  ones.  American  history  has  de- 
veloped in  a  free  atmosphere  such  as  cannot  be  had  in  countries 
with  ancient  traditions,  and  which,  even  in  the  New  World,  at 
least  in  the  eastern  part  of  it,  is  disappearing  day  by  day.  Of 
course,  such  elbow-room  has  not  been  an  unqualified  blessing. 
It  has  been  attended  by  evils  and  has  made  sacrifices  necessary. 
But  these  have  always  touched  the  individual.  The  community 
has  gained  by  the  freedom  of  economic  conditions.  For  instance, 
railroads,  such  as  were  built  through  the  whole  West  during  the 
pioneer  years  of  America,  would  not  be  permitted  for  a  moment 
by  a  German  government.  Such  flimsy  bridges,  such  rough- 
and-ready  road-beds,  such  inadequate  precautions  on  crossings 
were  everywhere  a  serious  menace;  but  those  who  were  injured 
were  soon  forgotten,  while  the  economic  blessings  of  the  new 
railroads  which  transported  hundreds  of  thousands  of  people 
into  uninhabited  regions,  and  left  them  to  gather  the  treasure 
of  the  soil,  continued.  They  could  never  have  been  built  if 
people  had  waited  until  they  were  able  to  construct  by  approved 
methods.  After  the  great  pioneer  railroads  had  accomplished 
their  mission,  the  time  came  when  they  were  replaced  by  better 
structures.  And  they  have  been  built  over  many  times,  until 
to-day  the  traffic  is  sufficiently  safe.  It  still  belongs,  in  a  way, 
to  the  confession  of  faith  of  this  religion  of  self-initiative  that 
each  man  shall  be  free  to  risk  not  only  his  property,  but  also  his 
own  life,  for  the  sake  of  enterprise.  No  board  of  commissioners 
may  interfere  to  tell  an  American  not  to  skirt  a  precipice. 

Such  instances  of  complete  freedom,  where  life  and  limb  are 
unsafe,  disappear  day  by  day.  Guide-posts  are  put  at  every 
railroad  crossing,  and  civil  authorities  take  more  and  more  interest 
in  safety  appliances  for  factories  and  in  the  security  of  city  build- 
ings; in  fact,  hygienic  regulations  in  some  Eastern  cities  to-day  go 


ECONOMIC  RISE  257 

even  further  than  they  go  in  Germany.  Nevertheless,  in  such  mat- 
ters as  involve  not  dangers,  but  merely  traditions  or  preferences, 
a  large  amount  of  democratic  freedom  can  still  be  had  in  the 
New  World.  Over  the  broad  prairies  there  are  no  signs  law- 
fully warning  persons  to  turn  to  the  right  and  not  to  walk  on  the 
grass.  The  American  himself  not  only  regards  this  country 
as  the  land  of  "unlimited  possibilities,"  but  more  specially  he 
regards  the  European  Continent  as  the  country  of  impossible 
limitations.  Bureaucracy  is  to  his  mind  the  worst  enemy  of 
industrial  life,  because  it  everywhere  provides  the  most  trivial 
obstacles  to  that  spirit  of  adventure  and  daring  which  seeks 
to  press  on  into  the  future;  and  in  the  end  it  is  sure  to  bring  all 
enterprise  to  a  standstill.  It  is  important  for  this  freedom  that 
the  whole  economic  legislation  is  regulated,  first  of  all,  not  by 
the  Union,  but  by  the  several  states,  and  that  thus  every  variety 
of  industrial  life  going  on  in  any  state  shall  be  so  well  repre- 
sented that  every  attempt  to  bring  up  artificial  restraints  shall  be 
nipped  in  the  bud. 

To  this  negative  factor  is  to  be  added  a  positive  one.  Every 
one  knows  that  the  mighty  growth  of  the  American  industry 
and  of  its  whole  commercial  life  would  not  have  been  possible 
without  the  carefully  adapted  protective  tariff  of  recent  years. 
The  Dingley  and  the  McKinley  tariff  laws  have  not,  of  course, 
produced  that  great  advance,  but  they  have  powerfully  aided 
it.  And  at  the  same  time  enormous  sums  have  been  derived 
therefrom  and  expended  by  the  government  in  improving  the 
water-ways  and  harbours.  The  government  has  spent  vast  sums 
in  helping  agriculture,  and  done  much  to  irrigate  the  arid  portions 
of  the  country.  Economic  problems  in  general  receive  great 
consideration  in  Washington  and  in  every  state  capital.  Besides 
such  general  political  activities,  there  are  more  special  ones.  The 
nation's  agriculture,  for  instance,  is  tremendously  assisted  by 
scientific  researches,  which  are  carried  on  by  the  Department 
of  Agriculture.  The  army  of  American  consuls  is  incomparably 
alert  in  seeking  out  favourable  openings  for  American  trade 
with  other  nations,  and  the  consular  reports  are  distributed 
promptly  and  free  of  charge  from  Washington  to  all  parts  of  the 
country. 

The  political  attitude  of  the  nation  works  in  still  another  way 


258  THE  AMERICANS 

to  favour  general  prosperity.  The  country  has  a  unified  organ- 
ization which  favours  all  economic  enterprises.  Although  seven- 
teen times  as  large  as  Germany,  the  country  is  nevertheless  one 
splendid  unit  without  internal  customs  barriers,  under  one  law, 
and  free  from  sectional  distrusts.  For,  wherever  commercial  in- 
tercourse goes  on  between  different  states,  the  common  federal 
law  is  in  force. 

Perhaps  even  more  important  than  the  national  unity  is  the 
democratic  equality  throughout  the  population.  However  diverse 
these  eighty  million  people  may  be,  they  form  a  homogeneous 
purchasing  public.  Every  new  style  or  fashion  spreads  like 
wild-fire  from  New  York  to  San  Francisco,  and  in  spite  of  their 
differences,  the  day-labourer  and  the  millionaire  both  have  a  cer- 
tain similarity  of  tastes  and  requirements,  so  that  the  industrial 
producer  and  the  distributor  find  it  easy  to  make  and  keep 
in  stock  all  articles  which  are  called  for.  Instead  of  the  freakish 
and  fanciful  demand  which  makes  the  European  industrial  life 
so  difficult,  everybody  in  America  wants  the  same  pattern  as  his 
neighbour,  perhaps  a  little  finer  and  better,  but  still  the  same  gen- 
eral thing.  And  this  brings  it  about  that  producers  can  manu- 
facture in  large  quantities,  and  wholesale  production  and  the 
ease  of  placing  wares  on  the  market  encourage  again  the  uni- 
formity of  taste  and  requirement,  and  help  on  the  popular  ten- 
dency toward  mutual  imitation  throughout  the  country. 

But  now,  instead  of  recounting  the  conditions  which  have 
helped  to  make  the  story,  we  must  narrate  the  story  itself.  The 
German  can  listen  to  it  with  pleasure,  since  it  is  about  one  of 
Germany's  best  patrons  —  a  nation  which  always  buys  from  Ger- 
many in  proportion  to  its  own  prosperity,  and  one  whose  adver- 
sity would  bring  misfortune  to  Germany.  The  story  can  be 
most  quickly  told  in  figures,  as  is  the  favourite  American  way; 
for,  if  the  American  has  a  special  mania,  it  is  to  heap  up  all 
sorts  of  statistics. 

We  shall  best  study  the  statistical  variations  through  long 
intervals  of  time,  in  order  not  to  be  led  astray  by  temporary 
fluctuations.  When,  a  few  years  ago,  an  industrial  and  financial 
relapse  had  set  in  in  Germany,  and  England  was  suffering  from 
the  war  in  the  Transvaal,  while  America  was  undertaking  a 
gigantic  work  of  organization  which  promised  to  have  marvellous 


ECONOMIC  RISE  259 

results,  the  United  States  suddenly  appeared  as  the  economic 
mistress  of  the  world,  to  the  astonishment  and  apprehension  of  all 
other  countries.  Soon  after  that  German  trade  and  industry 
began  to  revive  and  England  recovered  itself,  while  in  America 
industrial  extravagance  and  financial  inflation  were  bringing 
about  their  necessary  evil  consequences.  Then  the  public  opin- 
ion of  other  countries  swung  at  once  to  the  other  extreme,  as 
if  America's  success  had  been  entirely  spurious.  People  sud- 
denly turned  about  and  believed  that  the  time  of  American 
prosperity  was  over,  rejoiced  with  ghoulish  glee  over  the  weak- 
ness of  the  enemy,  despised  his  foolhardiness,  and  gossiped  about 
his  industrial  leaders.  But  it  was  only  in  other  countries  that 
men  like  Schwab,  the  president  of  the  Steel  Trust,  had  been  looked 
on  as  a  Napoleon  of  industry;  and  when  he  was  not  able  to  retain 
his  position,  European  papers  were  as  pleased  as  if  a  Napoleonic 
army  had  been  wiped  out.  Such  insignificant  events  of  the  day 
are  able  to  distort  the  judgment  of  great  movements;  picturesque 
mishaps  strike  the  attention,  and  are  taken  to  indicate  great 
movements. 

The  actual  advance  in  economic  life  of  the  United  States  was 
not  such  a  sudden  thing  as  it  seemed  to  nervous  Europe,  nor 
was  there  any  reverse  such  as  Europe  delighted  to  record.  To 
be  sure,  America  has  passed  through  several  great  crises;  but 
her  history  is  nevertheless  one  of  steady,  even  and  healthy  de- 
velopment in  economic  organization.  The  American  himself 
is  inclined  to  believe  that  severe  crises  are  not  to  be  feared  any 
more;  but  however  that  may  be,  the  long-predicted  downfall  has 
not  come  to-day,  and  is  not  even  in  sight.  The  general  progress 
persists,  and  the  decline  in  stock-market  securities,  which  has 
been  here  and  there  abroad  the  signal  for  alarm,  is  itself  a  part 
of  the  sound  development.  When  one  looks  at  the  whole  rise 
one  realizes  that  the  young  nation's  development  has  been 
great  and  powerful,  and  such  as  was  never  before  known  in  the 
history  of  civilization.  Figures  will  show  this  better  than  ad- 
jectives. What  now  do  the  United  States  produce  ?  The  wheat 
of  the  country  amounted,  in  the  year  1850,  to  only  100  million 
bushels;  in  1870  to  235  millions;  522  millions  in  1900;  637  in 
1903.  The  corn  harvest  was  592  millions  in  1850;  1,094  in  1870; 
2,105  in  1900;  2,244  m  I9°3-  There  were  52  million  pounds  of 


26o  THE  AMERICANS 

wool  in  1850;  162  in  1870;  288  in  1900;  316  in  1902.  But  cotton 
is  "  king."  In  1850  the  cotton  harvest  amounted  to  2.3  million 
bales;  3.1  millions  in  1870;  9.4  in  1900  and  10.7  in  1903; 
110,000  tons  of  sugar  were  produced  in  1850  and  last  year  3 10,000 
tons.  The  dreaded  American  petroleum  was  not  flowing  in  1850. 
It  appears  in  the  statistical  tables  of  1859  in  the  modest  quantity 
of  8,400  gallons;  in  1870  there  were  220  million  gallons;  in  1900, 
2,66 1  million,  and  in  1903  there  were  3,707  million  gallons.  The 
coal  output  of  the  country  began  in  1820  with  365  tons  and 
amounted  in  1850  to  3  million  tons;  in  1870  to  33  million;  in 
1900  to  240  million;  in  1902  to  269  million  tons.  In  the  middle  of 
the  last  century  563,000  tons  of  iron  ore  were  mined;  1.6  million 
tons  in  1870;  13.7  in  1900,  and  18  million  in  1903.  The  manufac- 
ture of  steel  began  in  1867  with  19,000  tons  and  in  1870  amounted 
to  68,000  tons,  to  10.1  million  tons  in  1900;  14.9  millions  in  1902. 
Of  copper,  650  tons  were  mined  in  1850;  12,000  tons  in  1870; 
270,000  tons  in  1900;  and  294,000  tons  in  1902.  The  silver 
production  in  the  middle  of  the  century  was  estimated  at  $50,000; 
in  1870  at  $16,000,000,  and  in  1900  at  $74,000,000;  in  the 
last  three  years  it  has  gone  back  to  $71,000,000.  The  high- 
est point  was  reached  in  1892,  with  $82,000,000.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  production  of  gold  has  grown  steadily  in  the 
last  twenty  years,  although  it  had  reached  its  first  high  point 
back  in  the  fifties.  In  the  year  1853,  $65,000,000  worth  of 
gold  was  produced.  The  amount  decreased  slowly  but  steadily 
to  $30,000,000  in  the  year  1883,  and  has  since  risen  almost 
steadily  until  in  1903  it  amounted  to  $74,000,000.  The  total  out- 
put of  minerals  was  valued  at  $218,000,000  in  1870,  and  $1,063,- 
000,000  in  1900. 

This  steady  growth  of  natural  products  is  repeated  in  the 
agricultural  and  industrial  spheres.  The  number  of  farms  was 
given  at  1.4  million  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  with  the 
total  value  of  $3,967,000,000;  in  1870  there  were  2.6  million 
farms  valued  at  $8,944,000,000;  and  in  1900  there  were  5.7  mil- 
lion, valued  at  $20,514,000,000.  In  1870,  5.9  million  people 
engaged  in  agriculture;  10.4  million  in  1900.  The  total  value 
of  agricultural  products  amounted,  in  1870,  to  $1,958,000,000, 
and  in  1900  to  $3,764,000,000.  All  domestic  animals  —  cattle, 
horses,  mules,  sheep  and  pigs —  amounted  in  1850  to  $544,000,000; 


ECONOMIC  RISE  261 

in  1870  to  $1,822,000,000;  in  1900  to  $2,228,000,000,  and  in 
1903  to  $3,102,000,000. 

The  greatest  growth,  however,  is  shown  in  industry.  In  1850 
there  were  123,000  industrial  plants  with  957,000  employees, 
paying  wages  of  $236,000,000,  and  with  an  output  worth 
$1,019,000,000.  In  1870  there  were  252,000  factories,  with  2 
million  workmen,  paying  $775,000,000  in  wages,  and  with  an 
output  worth  $4,232,000,000;  in  1890  there  were  3,550,000 
factories,  4.7  million  workmen,  a  salary  list  of  $2,283,000,000, 
and  a  product  worth  $9,372,000,000.  In  1900  there  were  512,000 
factories,  with  5.7  million  workmen,  a  pay-roll  of  $273,500,000, 
and  an  output  worth  $13,039,000,000.  Statistics  here  cannot 
be  brought  up  to  the  present  time,  since  a  careful  industrial 
census  is  made  only  every  ten  years;  but  this  glance  over  the  half 
century  shows  at  once  that  there  has  been  a  very  steady  increase, 
and  that  it  is  no  mushroom  growth  due  to  the  recently  enacted 
protective  tariffs. 

The  economic  rise  of  the  nation  is  well  reflected  in  its  foreign 
commerce.  If  we  disregard  the  imports  and  exports  of  precious 
metals,  the  international  commerce  of  the  United  States  shows 
a  total  import  in  the  year  1903  of  $1,025,719,237,  and  a  total 
export  of  $1,420,141,679.  We  must  analyze  these  two  figures 
in  several  ways,  and  compare  them  with  similar  figures  in  the 
past.  In  one  way  they  show  a  decrease,  since  in  the  year  1903 
the  exports  exceeded  the  imports  by  over  394  millions,  but  in  the 
preceding  year  by  477  millions.  This  unfavourable  change  is 
not  from  any  decrease  in  exports,  but  from  a  remarkable  increase 
in  imports;  in  fact,  the  exports  were  38  millions  more  than  during 
the  previous  year,  while  the  imports  were  122  millions  more. 

Thus,  in  the  year  1903,  the  total  foreign  trade  of  the  United 
States  exceeded  that  of  all  previous  years,  and  reached  the  aston- 
ishing figure  of  $2,445,000,000.  Although  before  the  year 
1900  the  total  trade  was  less  than  two  billions,  it  reached  the 
sum  of  one  billion  as  early  as  the  year  1872;  exports  and  imports 
together  amounted  in  1830  to  134  millions;  in  1850  to  317  mil- 
lions; in  1860  to  687  millions;  in  1870  to  828  millions;  in  1880 
to  1,503  millions;  in  1890  to  1,647  millions,  and  in  1900  to  2,244 
millions.  During  this  period  the  balance  of  trade  shifted  fre- 
quently. In  1800,  for  instance,  there  was  an  import  balance 


262  THE  AMERICANS 

of  21  millions,  and  similarly  in  the  decades  ending  in  1810, 
1820,  and  1830.  In  the  decade  which  ended  in  1840  there  was 
an  average  export  balance  of  29  millions.  The  tables  turned  in 
the  next  decade  ending  in  the  year  1850,  when  there  was  an 
average  import  balance  of  29  millions;  in  the  decade  ending 
1860,  of  20  millions,  and  in  the  following  decade,  of  43  millions. 
But  then  the  exports  suddenly  increased,  and  have  exceeded  the 
imports  for  the  last  twenty-five  years.  In  1880  the  imports  were 
667  millions,  and  the  exports  835  millions;  in  1890  the  imports 
were  789  millions,  and  the  exports  857  millions;  in  1900  the  im- 
ports were  849  millions,  and  the  exports  1,394  millions;  in  1901 
the  imports  were  823,  and  the  exports  1,487;  in  1902  the  imports 
were  903,  and  the  exports  1,381;  and  in  1903,  as  given  above,  the 
imports  were  1,025,  and  the  exports  1,420  millions. 

Let  us  now  look  at  the  American  imports  more  closely.  Let- 
ting all  our  figures  represent  million  dollars,  we  learn  that  during 
the  last  year  imports  of  bread-stuffs  and  live  animals  were  212; 
of  raw  materials  383;  of  half-finished  products  97;  of  manufac- 
tured products  169,  and  of  articles  of  luxury  in  general  145. 
The  food  products  imported,  which  comprise  to-day  21  per  cent, 
of  all  imports,  comprised  31  per  cent,  in  1880;  and  at  that  time 
the  necessary  manufactured  articles  were  also  a  larger  proportion 
of  the  whole,  being  then  20  per  cent,  against  16  per  cent,  to-day. 
On  the  other  hand,  raw  materials,  which  were  then  25  per  cent., 
are  to-day  38  per  cent.,  and  articles  of  luxury  have  increased 
from  10  to  14  per  cent,  of  the  total  imports.  Of  the  half-manu- 
factured products  imported,  the  most  important  were  the  chem- 
icals, valued  at  38  millions;  then  come  wooden  wares  worth  n,oil 
worth  10,  iron  worth  8,  skins  and  leather  worth  5  millions.  Of  raw 
materials  the  most  valuable  were  skins  and  furs,  which  amounted 
last  year  to  58  millions;  raw  silk  was  next,  with  50;  vegetable  fibres, 
such  as  hemp,  34;  rubber  32,  iron  and  steel  30.  This  last  figure 
is  an  exceptional  one,  and  is  due  to  the  fact  that  during  the  year 
the  American  steel  industries  were  taxed  to  their  utmost  by 
consumers'  demands.  In  the  year  1902  the  iron  and  steel  imports 
were  only  9,  and  in  1901  only  3  millions.  The  imports  of  raw 
chemicals  amounted  to  23  millions,  and  tin  the  same;  wool  21, 
copper  20;  wood  n,  and  cotton  n. 

The  exports,  arranged  according  to  the  sources  of  production, 


ECONOMIC  RISE  263 

amounted,  last  year,  to  873  million  dollars'  worth  of  agricultural 
products,  407  of  factory  products,  57  of  products  of  the  forest, 
39  of  mines,  and  7  from  fisheries.  Of  the  remainder,  6  millions 
were  from  other  domestic  sources,  and  27  had  come  from  other 
countries.  The  agricultural  exports  reached  their  highest  point 
in  1901,  when  they  amounted  to  943,  and  also  the  export  of 
manufactured  articles  is  now  3.4  less  than  in  1901  and  26  less 
than  in  1900.  But  the  statistics  of  manufactures  show  suffi- 
ciently that  there  has  been  no  decrease  in  output,  but  merely 
that  the  home  consumption  has  increased.  Apart  from  these 
accidental  fluctuations  of  the  past  three  years,  the  exports  have 
steadily  increased.  In  1800  the  agricultural  exports  were  25 
millions;  the  industrial  2;  in  1850  the  former  were  108,  the 
latter  17;  in  1880  they  were  685  and  102  respectively,  and  in 
1900  they  were  835  and  433. 

If  we  look  at  the  foreign  trade  with  regard  to  the  countries 
traded  with,  we  shall  find  Europe  first  in  both  exports  and  imports. 
In  the  year  1903  the  imports  from  Europe  to  the  United  States 
were  547,  the  exports  to  Europe  1029;  the  imports  from  Canada 
and  Mexico  were  189,  and  the  exports  thereto  215.  From 
South  America  the  imports  were  107,  the  exports  41;  from  Asia 
the  imports  were  147,  the  exports  58;  from  Australia  they  were 
21  and  37,  and  from  Africa  12  and  38. 

The  trade  balances  with  individual  countries  in  Europe  were 
as  follows:  England  bought  from  the  United  States  523  million 
dollars'  worth,  and  sold  the  value  of  180;  then  comes  Germany, 
which  bought  174  and  sold  1 1 1 ;  France  bought  only  70  and  sold  87; 
Austria  bought  6  and  sold  10;  Russia  bought  7  and  sold  the  same 
amount.  After  England  and  Germany  the  best  purchaser 
was  Canada,  which  imported  from  the  United  States  123  and 
exported  thereto  54.  Germany  imports  more  from  the  United 
States  than  from  any  other  country.  Germany  imports  very  much 
less  from  Russia,  and  still  less  from  Austria  and  Great  Britain. 
Among  the  countries  to  which  Germany  exports  her  wares  the 
United  States  has  third  place,  England  and  Austria  having  the 
first  and  second.  America  imports  from  Germany  firstly  drugs 
and  dye-stuffs,  then  manufactured  cotton,  silk,  and  iron  goods, 
books,  pictures,  and  works  of  art,  clay  ware,  china,  lithographs, 
toys,  etc.  No  other  class  amounts  to  more  than  10  million  marks. 


264  THE  AMERICANS 

There  is  a  steady  increase  in  almost  every  class,  and  the  total 
imports  from  Germany  were  17  per  cent,  larger  last  year  than 
during  the  year  previous;  71  per  cent,  more  than  in  1898;  138  per 
cent,  more  than  in  1880;  198  per  cent,  more  than  in  1875,  anc^ 
343  per  cent,  more  than  in  1870. 

The  principal  export  of  the  United  States  to  Germany  is  cot- 
ton. Ten  years  ago  the  amount  exported  was  34  million  dollars' 
worth;  in  1901,  it  was  76;  in  the  following  year  only  70,  but  in  the 
year  1903,  84,  the  amount  exported  in  that  year  being  957,000,000 
pounds.  The  exports  of  wheat  to  Germany  amounted  in  1896 
to  only  0.608  million  dollars;  in  the  following  year  to  1.9;  in  the 
next  year  to  3.1;  in  1899  to  7.6;  and  in  1902  to  14.9;  but  in  1903 
to  only  1 1. 1.  The  exports  of  corn  fluctuate  still  more  widely. 
In  the  year  1901  Germany  bought  17  millions,  in  1903  only  6.6. 
The  exportation  of  petroleum  reached  its  largest  figure  in  1900, 
with  8  millions,  and  in  1893  was  6.3. 

Enough  of  these  dry  figures.  They  would  look  still  more  strik- 
ing if  compared  with  the  statistics  of  other  countries.  More 
wheat  grows  in  the  United  States  than  in  any  other  country,  and 
more  corn  than  in  all  the  other  countries  put  together;  more 
cattle  and  hogs  are  slaughtered  than  in  any  other  country,  and 
three-fourths  of  the  world's  cotton  harvest  is  grown  in  the 
United  States.  No  other  country  mines  so  much  coal,  petroleum, 
iron,  copper,  and  lead,  or  produces  so  much  leather  or  charcoal. 
In  short,  the  most  important  articles  entering  into  manufactures 
are  more  plentiful  than  in  any  other  country  of  the  world.  But 
even  on  looking  over  these  figures  of  international  trade,  one  does 
not  get  so  adequate  an  impression  of  the  immense  economic 
activity  as  by  actually  seeing  the  wheels  of  this  great  machine 
in  motion.  One  must  see  the  power  stations  at  Niagara,  the  steel 
works  of  Pittsburg,  the  slaughter-houses  of  Chicago,  the  textile 
factories  of  New  England,  the  printing-presses  of  New  York,  the 
watch  factories  of  Massachusetts  and  Illinois,  the  grain-elevators 
of  Buffalo,  the  mills  of  Minneapolis,  the  locomotive  and  ship  works 
near  Philadelphia,  and  the  water  front  of  New  York  City,  in  order 
to  understand  the  tremendous  forces  which  are  constantly  at  work. 

A  single  factory  turns  out  1,500  locomotives  every  year.  A 
Chicago  factory  which  makes  harvesting  machinery  covers 
140  acres,  employs  24,000  men,  and  has  made  two  million  ma- 


ECONOMIC  RISE  265 

chines  which  are  now  in  use.  It  has  fifty  ships  to  bring  its  wood  and 
iron,  and  every  day  loads  a  hundred  freight  cars  with  its  finished 
products.  And  enterprise  on  this  large  scale  is  found  not  merely 
in  staple  articles,  but  in  more  trivial  wares.  It  is  a  familiar  fact 
that  in  Germany  the  large  department  stores  make  very  slow 
progress  against  small  shops,  while  in  America  the  great  shops 
meet  at  once  with  popular  favour.  Their  huge  advertisements 
in  newspapers  and  magazines  vie  with  their  shop  windows  in 
attracting  trade.  It  is  nothing  uncommon  for  the  manufacturer 
of  a  breakfast  food  or  some  chemical  preparation  to  spend  over 
a  million  dollars  a  year  for  humorous  advertisements.  In  the 
Ladies'  Home  Journal  one  insertion  on  the  advertising  pages 
costs  six  dollars  per  line,  and  the  lines  are  short.  A  short  time  ago 
a  soap  concern  leased  the  back  outside  cover  of  a  magazine 
for  a  period  of  time  and  paid  $150,000  therefor. 

More  impressive,  however,  than  anything  that  the  traveller  is 
able  to  see  to-day  is  the  comparison  with  what  existed  yesterday. 
Our  figures  have  very  well  shown  that  the  speed  of  development 
has  been  rapid  everywhere  and  sometimes  almost  explosive. 
A  typical  example  of  this  is  found  in  agricultural  machinery.  The 
manner  of  tilling  the  ground  was  wholly  revolutionized  in  1870, 
when  the  first  ploughing-machine  was  offered  for  sale  to  the  Ameri- 
can farmer.  Since  then  improvements  have  been  made  contin- 
ually, until  to-day  every  farmer  rides  on  his  machines;  and  the 
steam-plough,  which  sows  and  harrows  at  the  same  time,  has 
reduced  the  amount  of  time  spent  on  these  processes  to  one- 
fifteenth  of  what  it  formerly  was,  and  the  cost  of  every  sheaf  of 
wheat  to  one-quarter.  The  machines  of  to-day  sow  and  fer- 
tilize at  the  same  time,  and  place  the  seeds  at  just  the  desired 
depth  beneath  the  surface.  There  are  other  machines  which 
take  the  corn  from  the  cob,  at  the  same  time  cutting  up  the 
cobs,  and  turn  out  a  bushel  of  corn  in  a  minute,  for  which  a  good 
labourer  used  to  take  two  hours. 

The  threshing-flail  was  abandoned  long  ago,  and  the  com- 
bined mowing  and  threshing  machine  is  perhaps  the  most  clever 
invention  of  all.  It  cuts  the  kernels  from  the  stalk,  threshes  and 
winnows  them,  and  packs  them  in  bags;  and  all  this  as  quickly  as 
the  horses  are  able  to  travel  down  the  field.  The  machines  which 
separate  the  cotton  from  the  cotton  seed  are  the  only  thing  that 


266  THE  AMERICANS 

makes  it  possible  to  gather  a  harvest  of  ten  million  bales.  In 
former  times  it  took  a  person  about  ten  hours  to  remove  the  seeds 
from  a  pound  and  a  half  of  cotton.  The  machine  cleans  7,000 
pounds  in  the  same  time. 

In  just  the  same  way  the  inventive  genius  of  the  American  has 
everywhere  increased  the  output  of  his  factories.  His  chief  aim 
is  to  save  labour,  and  hence  to  devise  automatic  processes 
wherever  they  are  possible,  so  that  turning  a  crank  or  touch- 
ing a  lever  shall  accomplish  as  much  as  hard  work  once  accom- 
plished. This  continual  process  of  invention  and  improve- 
ment, and  the  fertile  resourcefulness  of  every  workman  and 
capitalist,  their  readiness  to  introduce  every  improvement  with- 
out delay  and  without  regard  to  expense,  have  contributed  more 
to  the  enormous  economic  progress  than  all  the  protective  tariff 
or  even  than  the  natural  resources  of  the  soil  itself. 

Extreme  jingoes  see  in  this  huge  growth  only  the  beginning 
of  something  yet  to  come,  and  in  their  dreams  imagine  a  day 
when  America  shall  rule  the  markets  of  the  world.  But  no  one 
should  be  deceived  by  such  ideas.  The  thoughtful  American 
knows  very  well  that,  for  instance,  the  great  increase  of  his  ex- 
port trade  has  by  no  means  overcome  all  obstacles.  He  knows 
that  American  wages  are  high,  and  that  prosperity  makes  them 
more  so,  because  the  American  workman  is  better  able  than  the 
European  to  demand  his  share  of  all  profits.  Also  the  thought- 
ful American  does  not  expect  to  gain  the  European  market  by 
"dumping"  his  wares.  In  the  apprehension  of  dull  times  he 
may  snatch  an  expedient  for  getting  rid  of  accumulations  which 
the  home  market  will  not  take  off  his  hands.  In  ordinary  times 
industry  will  not  do  this,  because  it  knows  the  demoralizing 
effect  produced  on  the  home  country  when  it  is  known  that  the 
manufacturer  is  selling  more  cheaply  abroad  than  at  home.  The 
American  is  afraid  of  demoralizing  the  domestic  market  more 
than  anything  else;  since,  owing  to  the  strong  tendency  toward 
industrial  imitation,  any  economic  depression  spreads  rapidly, 
and  can  easily  cause  a  general  collapse  of  prices.  Even  the 
elaborate  pains  taken  to  replace  human  labour  in  the  American 
labour-saving  machines  are  often  quite  made  up  for  by  the  thought- 
less waste  of  by-products  and  by  the  general  high-handedness 
of  conducting  business. 


ECONOMIC  RISE  267 

While  America  has  a  tremendous  advantage  in  the  fact  that 
coal  can  be  readily  brought  to  the  industrial  centres,  and  that 
the  products  can  be  delivered  cheaply  throughout  the  country,  it 
stands  under  the  disadvantage  that  most  of  its  exports  are  shipped 
in  foreign  bottoms,  so  that  the  freight  charges  go  to  foreigners; 
for  the  American  merchant-marine  is  wholly  inadequate  to  the 
needs  of  American  trade.  If  America  is  strong  by  reason  of 
protective  tariff,  England  intends,  perhaps,  to  remind  her 
daughter  country  that  the  American  game  can  be  played  by  two. 
Protection  is  no  monopoly.  While  the  natural  wealth  of  this  coun- 
try is  inexhaustible,  the  American  knows  that  the  largest  profits 
will  go  to  the  country  which  manufactures  them;  and  while  the 
American  is  energetic  and  intelligent  in  getting  a  foothold  in 
foreign  markets,  he  finds  that  other  nations  also  have  some 
counterbalancing  virtues  which  he  neither  has  nor  can  get. 
First  of  these  is  the  patience  to  study  foreign  requirements, 
and  then  the  ways  of  guarding  against  wastefulness.  He  has 
one  incomparable  advantage,  as  we  have  seen  —  his  economic 
idealism,  his  belief  in  the  intrinsic  value  of  economic  progress,  his 
striving  to  be  economically  creative  in  order  to  satisfy  the  rest- 
lessness which  is  in  him.  The  economic  drawback  of  this  point 
of  view  is  not  far  to  seek.  The  spirit  of  individual  initiative 
awakens  in  the  workman  the  demand  for  equal  rights,  and  in- 
tensifies the  fight  between  capital  and  labour  more  than  in  any 
other  country,  and  puts  such  chains  on  industry  as  are  spared  to 
America's  competitors  in  the  markets  of  the  world.  In  short,  the 
thoughtful  American  knows  very  well  that  the  markets  of  the  world 
are  to  be  won  for  his  products  only  one  by  one,  and  that  he  will 
meet  competitors  who  are  his  equals;  that  there  will  be  difficul- 
ties on  difficulties,  and  that  the  home  market  from  time  to  time 
will  make  heavy  imports  necessary.  He  knows  that  he  cannot 
hope  simply  to  overthrow  the  industry  of  all  Europe,  nor  to  make 
the  industrial  captains  of  the  New  World  dictators  of  the  earth. 

That  which  he  does  expect,  however,  is  sure  to  happen;  name- 
ly, that  the  progress  of  America  will  be  in  the  future  as  steady  as 
it  has  been  in  the  past.  The  harvests  of  all  the  states  will  not 
always  prosper,  nor  speculators  be  always  contented  with  their 
profits,  but  the  business  life  of  the  nation  as  a  whole,  unless  all 
signs  fail,  need  fear  no  setbacks  or  serious  panics. 


268  THE  AMERICANS 

The  United  States  have  gone  through  six  severe  crises  —  in  1814, 
1819,  1837,  1857,  1873,  and  1893.  There  is  much  to  indicate  that 
the  trite  idea  of  the  rhythmical  recurrence  of  crises  will  be  given 
up  henceforth.  And  although  just  now,  after  years  of  great  ex- 
pansion, contraction  is  setting  in,  still  the  times  are  not  to  be  com- 
pared with  preceding  crises,  and  particularly  not  with  the  bitter 
days  of  1893.  Let  us  examine  what  happened  in  that  year.  The 
unhappy  experiences  of  the  early  nineties  resulted  naturally  from 
an  abnormal  expansion  of  credit.  Five  or  six  years  of  prosperity 
had  gone  before,  and  therewith  every  industry  which  contributed 
to  personal  gratification  was  stimulated  to  excess.  An  un- 
reasonable craze  for  building  went  over  the  country,  and  real 
estate  rose  constantly.  But  the  country  had  not  developed 
economically  in  other  directions  to  a  corresponding  degree. 
Too  many  superfluous  undertakings  had  been  started,  and 
houses  and  lands  were  everywhere  heavily  mortgaged.  As  early 
as  1890  things  began  to  tremble,  and  three  years  later  the  final 
crash  came.  More  than  15,000  bankruptcies  followed  one 
another  during  that  year,  of  which  the  total  obligations  were 
$350,000,000;  and  in  the  three  following  years  matters  were 
hardly  any  better.  Everything  was  paralyzed.  The  farmer 
was  in  debt,  the  artisan  out  of  employment,  the  miner  had  to  be 
fed  by  charity,  and  since  the  purchasing  power  of  millions  of  people 
was  destroyed,  there  was  no  one  to  support  industry  and  trade. 
It  was  a  veritable  economic  collapse,  with  all  the  symptoms  of 
danger;  but  the  organism  recovered  without  the  aid  of  a  phy- 
sician, by  its  own  healthy  reaction,  and  in  such  wise  that  a 
relapse  will  hardly  take  place  in  the  future. 

The  catastrophe  prepared  for  the  return  to  strength  by  destroy- 
ing many  business  concerns  which  were  not  fit  to  survive,  and 
leaving  only  the  strongest  in  the  field.  But  this  result  is,  of 
course,  not  a  lasting  one,  because  in  prosperous  years  all  sorts 
of  poor  businesses  start  up  again;  good  years  stimulate  super- 
fluous production.  The  permanent  result  was  the  lesson 
which  industry  learned,  in  prudence  and  economy.  There  is 
very  much  in  this  direction  still  to  be  learned,  yet  the  last  crisis 
accomplished  a  great  deal.  For  instance,  in  the  stock-yards  a 
single  company  had  formerly  thrown  away  annually  portions 
of  the  animals  which  would  have  yielded  six  million  pounds  of 


ECONOMIC  RISE  269 

lime,  30  million  pounds  of  fat,  and  105  million  pounds  of  fer- 
tilizer, and  a  few  years  later  the  total  dividends  of  that  company 
were  paid  by  the  by-products  which  had  been  thrown  away  a 
short  time  before.  The  same  thing  has  happened  in  the  mines 
and  oil-wells,  in  the  fields  and  in  the  forests. 

Owing  to  the  special  gift  which  the  American  has  for  in- 
vention, this  period  brought  out  a  great  number  of  devices 
looking  toward  economy.  In  iron  factories  and  coal  mines,  and 
in  a  thousand  places  where  industry  was  busy,  expenses  were  cut 
down  and  profits  were  increased,  more  labour-saving  devices  were 
invented,  and  all  sorts  of  processes  were  accomplished  by  ingen- 
ious machines.  American  industry  derived  advantages  from 
Jiis  period  in  which  the  nation  had  to  be  economical,  which  it 
will  never  outlive. 

Although  such  great  economy  helps  out  in  bad  times,  it  does 
not  in  itself  revive  trade.  It  is  difficult  to  say  where  and  how  the 
revival  set  in,  since  the  most  diverse  factors  must  have  been 
at  work.  But  the  formation  of  the  great  trusts  was  not  a  cause 
of  such  revival,  but  merely  a  symptom  of  it.  The  real  com- 
mencement seems  to  have  been  the  great  harvest  which  the 
country  enjoyed  in  the  fall  of  1897.  When  wheat  was  scarce  in 
Russia  and  India,  and  therefore  throughout  the  world,  America 
reaped  the  largest  harvest  in  years,  and  despite  the  enormous 
quantity  the  European  demand  carried  prices  up  from  week  to 
week.  The  farmer  who  in  1894  had  received  forty-nine  cents 
for  each  bushel  of  wheat,  now  received  eighty-one  cents,  and  at 
the  same  time  had  his  bins  full.  Of  course  there  could  be  only 
one  result.  The  farmers  who  had  been  economizing  and  al- 
most impoverished  for  several  years  became  very  prosperous, 
and  called  for  all  sorts  of  things  which  they  had  had  to  go  without 
—  better  wagons  and  farming  implements,  better  clothing,  and 
better  food.  In  a  country  where  agriculture  is  so  important, 
this  means  prosperity  for  all  industries. 

The  shops  in  every  village  were  busy  once  more,  and  the 
large  industries  again  started  up  one  by  one.  The  effect  on  the 
railroads  was  still  more  important.  The  good  times  had  stim- 
ulated the  building  of  many  competing  lines  of  railroad,  which 
were  very  good  for  the  country,  but  less  profitable  to  their  owners. 
The  lean  years  just  passed  had  brought  great  demoralization  to 


270  THE  AMERICANS 

these  lines.  One  railroad  after  another  had  gone  into  a  re- 
ceiver's hands,  and  the  service  was  crippled.  Every  possible 
cent  was  saved  and  coaches  and  road-beds  were  sparingly  re- 
newed. Now  came  an  enormous  freight  demand  to  carry  the 
great  harvest  to  market,  and  to  serve  the  newly  revived  indus- 
tries. The  railroads  rapidly  recovered;  their  service  was  restored. 
The  railroads  brought  prosperity  once  more  to  the  iron  and 
steel  industries;  new  rails  and  ties  were  absolutely  necessary, 
and  the  steel  industry  started  forward  and  set  everything  else  in 
motion  with  it.  Artisans  became  prosperous  again  and  further 
stimulated  the  industries  which  they  patronized;  coal  was  wanted 
everywhere,  and  so  the  mines  awakened  to  new  life. 

Then  the  Spanish  War  was  begun  and  brought  to  the  nation 
an  unexpected  amount  of  self-confidence,  which  quickened  once 
more  its  industrial  activity.  Such  were  the  internal  conditions 
which  made  for  growth,  and  the  external  conditions  were  equally 
favourable.  In  1898  America  harvested  675  million  bushels  of 
wheat,  and  the  enormous  quantity  of  1 1  million  bales  of  cotton. 
By  chance,  moreover,  the  production  of  gold  increased  to 
$64,000,000;  and  this,  with  the  enormous  sums  which  foreign 
countries  paid  for  American  grain,  considerably  increased  the 
money  in  circulation.  This  was  the  time  for  the  stock  market 
to  enjoy  a  similar  boom.  During  the  crisis  it  had  nervously  with- 
held from  activity  and  looked  with  distrust  on  the  West  and  South, 
which  were  now  being  prospered  by  great  harvests.  Everything 
had  formerly  been  mortgaged  in  those  regions,  and  from  the 
despair  of  the  Western  farmer  the  ill-advised  silver  schemes  had 
arisen  to  fill  the  eastern  part  of  the  country  with  anxiety.  But  now 
the  election  of  McKinley  had  assured  the  safety  of  the  currency; 
the  silver  issue  was  laid  low;  the  debts  of  the  Western  farmer  had 
been  paid  within  a  few  years  by  magnificent  crops,  and  the 
Western  States  had  come  into  a  healthy  state  of  prosperity.  Now 
the  stock  markets  could  pluck  up  courage.  In  the  stock  market 
of  New  York  in  the  year  1894  only  49,000,000  shares  were  bought 
and  sold.  In  1897  the  market  began  to  recover,  and  77,000,000 
shares  were  exchanged;  in  1898  there  were  112,000,000,  and 
in  1899,  1 75,000,000  shares. 

In  the  winter  of  1898-99  the  formation  of  trusts  commenced  in 
good  earnest,  and  this  was  a  glad  day  for  the  stock  markets. 


ECONOMIC  RISE  271 

Large  amounts  of  capital  which  had  been  only  cautiously  of- 
fered now  sought  investment,  and  since  the  market  quotations 
could  rise  more  quickly  than  industries  could  grow,  it  was  a 
favourable  time  for  reorganizing  industry  and  making  great 
combinations  with  a  capital  proportioned  to  the  happy  industrial 
outlook.  In  the  State  of  New  Jersey  alone,  a  state  which  spe- 
cially invited  all  such  organizations  by  means  of  its  very  lenient 
laws  of  incorporation,  hundreds  of  such  combinations  were  in- 
corporated with  a  total  nominal  capital  of  over  $4,000,000,000.  To 
be  sure,  in  just  this  connection  there  was  very  soon  a  recoil.  In 
December  of  1899,  a  great  many  of  these  watered-stock  issues 
collapsed,  although  the  industries  themselves  went  on  unharmed. 
But  this  activity  of  the  stock  market,  in  spite  of  its  fluctuating 
quotations,  was  of  benefit  to  industrial  life. 

Meanwhile  wealth  in  town  and  country  increased,  owing  to 
the  general  activity  of  all  factors.  In  a  few  years  the  number  of 
savings-banks  accounts  was  doubled,  and  railroads  had  only  the 
one  complaint  —  that  they  could  not  get  enough  cars  to  carry  all 
the  wheat,  corn,  wood,  iron,  cattle,  coal,  cotton,  and  manufactures 
offered  for  transportation.  In  two  years  the  number  of  money- 
orders  sent  through  the  post-offices  increased  by  7  millions,  and  the 
number  of  letters  and  packages  by  361  millions.  Now,  too,  came 
a  time  of  magnificent  philanthropy;  private  endowments  for  edu- 
cation and  art  increased  in  one  year  more  than  $50,000,000. 

Along  with  all  this  came  an  increase  in  foreign  trade;  here,  too, 
bad  times  had  prepared  the  way.  When  the  home  market  was 
prostrate,  industry  had  sought  with  great  energy  to  get  a  footing 
in  foreign  markets;  and  by  low  prices,  assiduous  study  of  foreign 
demands,  and  good  workmanship,  it  had  slowly  conquered  one 
field  after  another,  so  that  when  good  times  came  there  was  a 
splendid  foundation  built  for  a  foreign  commerce.  America 
sold  bicycles  and  agricultural  machinery,  boots,  cotton  cloth, 
paper,  and  watches,  and  eventually  rails,  bridges,  and  loco- 
motives in  quantities  which  would  never  have  been  thought  of 
before  the  panic.  And  the  country  became  at  the  same  time 
more  than  ever  independent  of  European  industry.  In  1890 
America  bought  $357,000,000  of  foreign  manufactures  and  sold 
of  her  own  only  $151,000,000.  In  1899  its  purchases  were 
$100,000,000  less  and  its  exports  nearly  $200,000,000  more. 


272  THE  AMERICANS 

And  at  the  same  time,  owing  to  the  tremendous  crops,  the 
total  export  of  native  products  reached  the  sum  of  $1,233,000,000, 
and  therewith  the  United  States  had  for  the  first  time  reached 
the  highest  place  among  the  exporting  countries  of  the  world  —  a 
position  which  had  formerly  belonged  to  Great  Britain.  The 
trade  balance  of  the  United  States,  even  in  the  first  year  of 
prosperity,  1898,  brought  $615,000,000  into  the  country.  The 
year  in  which  the  American  Navy,  by  a  rapid  succession  of 
victories,  demonstrated  that  the  nation  was  politically  a  world 
power,  brought  the  assurance  that  it  was  no  less  a  world  power 
commercially.  Already  the  Russian  trans-Siberian  Railway  was 
using  American  rails,  American  companies  were  building  bridges 
in  India,  American  cotton  goods  driving  out  British  competition 
in  China,  and  the  movement  was  still  going  on.  One  large 
harvest  followed  another. 

The  wheat  harvest  in  1901  reached  the  unprecedented  figure 
of  736  million  bushels,  and  in  1902  of  987  millions.  In  the  same 
year  there  were  670  million  bushels  of  barley,  and  as  many  as 
2,523  million  bushels  of  corn.  A  corn  harvest  is  almost  always 
profitable,  because  it  keeps  and  can  easily  be  stored  until  the  right 
time  comes  to  sell  it;  and  then,  too,  the  farmers  are  always  ready  to 
use  it  for  feed,  which  further  helps  its  price.  Corn  has  done 
more  than  any  other  harvest  to  bring  wealth  into  the  West.  The 
cotton  crop  stayed  at  its  ten-million  mark,  and  nearly  70  million 
barrels  of  petroleum  flowed  every  year.  The  demands  made  on 
the  railroads  increased  month  by  month,  until  finally  last  year 
there  were  weeks  in  which  no  freight  could  be  received,  because 
the  freight  yards  were  full  of  unloaded  cars.  And  at  the  head  of 
everything  moved  the  iron  and  steel  industries.  The  larger  the 
harvests  the  more  lively  was  the  industry  of  the  country,  and  the 
more  busy  the  factories  and  railroads  became  the  more  the  iron 
industry  prospered.  The  manufacture  of  iron  and  steel  in- 
creased steadily,  and  in  1898  amounted  to  11.9  million  meter- 
tons  of  pig-iron,  and  9  million  of  steel;  in  1900,  to  14  of  pig-iron 
and  10  of  steel;  in  1902,  to  18  and  15:  while  the  production  of 
the  entire  earth  was  only  44  and  36  respectively. 

But  in  spite  of  this  tremendous  growth,  the  prices  also  rose. 
Railroads  which  in  the  spring  had  made  contracts  for  new  rails 
were  able  a  few  months  later  to  sell  their  old  rails  at  prices  which 


ECONOMIC  RISE  273 

were  25  per  cent,  higher  than  the  former  price  of  new  rails, 
because  meanwhile  the  price  of  steel  had  risen  enormously. 
If  it  is  true  that  the  iron  industry  can  be  taken  as  an  index  of 
national  prosperity,  there  is  no  doubt  at  all  that  prosperity  was 
here.  No  city  in  the  country  experienced  such  a  growth  in  its 
banking  as  Pittsburg,  where  the  banking  transactions  in  1899 
amounted  to  $1,500,000,000. 

This  tempestuous  expansion  in  every  direction,  which  lasted 
from  1897  to  1903,  is  no  longer  going  on.  A  counter-movement 
has  set  in  again.  So  many  factors  are  at  work  that  it  is  hard 
to  say  where  the  reaction  commenced,  although  undoubtedly 
the  great  coal  strikes  were  the  first  important  indication.  The 
feverish  building  activity  of  the  country  is  very  largely  over,  and 
this  decrease  has  considerably  affected  the  steel  industry.  Per- 
haps the  refusal  of  bankers  further  to  countenance  the  financial 
operations  of  the  railroads  has  been  an  even  more  important 
matter.  During  the  years  of  prosperity  the  railroads  had  ob- 
tained credit  so  easily  that  the  scale  of  expenditure  on  most  rail- 
roads had  become  too  lavish,  and  in  particular  large  sums  had 
been  spent  in  converting  railroad  shares  into  bonds.  Now  the 
financial  world  began  to  react  and  refused  to  furnish  any  more 
funds,  whereon  the  railroads,  which  were  among  the  best  patrons 
of  the  steel  industry,  had  to  retrench.  And  this  depressed  the 
state  of  business,  and  the  otherwise  somewhat  diminished  in- 
dustry cut  down  the  freight  traffic.  Other  industries  had  to  suffer 
when  the  building  and  iron  industries  declined.  The  purchasing 
power  of  the  working-man  has  decreased  somewhat,  and  general 
industry  is  a  trifle  dull.  This  has  affected  stock  quotations, 
and  nervousness  in  financial  circles  has  been  increased  by  the 
mishaps  and  miscalculations  of  well-known  operators.  This 
has  worked  back  in  various  directions,  and  so  it  is  natural  that 
pessimists  at  home  and  the  dear  friends  of  the  country  abroad  have 
predicted  a  panic. 

But  it  will  not  come.  The  situation  has  been  too  largely 
corrected,  and  the  country  has  learned  a  lasting  lesson  from 
previous  years.  When  a  collapse  came  in  the  early  nineties, 
after  a  time  of  prosperity  and  over-expenditure  in  every  sort  of 
undertaking,  the  national  situation  was  in  every  way  different. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  real  weakness,  and  there  were  many 


274-  THE  AMERICANS 

unnecessary  and  unconservative  business  ventures  on  foot. 
All  this  is  different  to-day.  The  credit  which  the  railroads  at 
that  time  had  overdrawn  on  had  been  used  to  lay  thousands  of 
miles  of  tracks  where  as  yet  there  was  no  population.  During 
the  recent  years  of  prosperity,  on  the  contrary,  the  railroads  have 
been  extended  relatively  little,  and  the  expenditures  have  been 
mainly  for  improved  equipment  and  service.  The  railroads  have 
been  made  more  efficient  and  substantial,  their  indebtedness  is 
less,  and  the  considerable  contraction  of  business  cannot  do  them 
serious  harm.  Indeed,  many  persons  believe  that  the  great 
strain  which  the  boom  of  the  last  few  years  has  put  on  the  rail- 
roads has  been  a  decided  disadvantage  to  them.  The  excessive 
traffic  has  disturbed  regular  business,  increased  the  danger  from 
accidents,  and  considerably  raised  the  charges  for  maintenance. 
In  general,  the  railroads  would  prefer  a  normal  to  an  abnormal 
traffic  demand. 

The  same  is  true  of  industry.  Such  tremendous  pressure  as 
the  last  few  years  have  brought  cannot  be  borne  without  loss. 
The  factories  were  obliged  to  hire  working-men  much  below  the 
average  grade  of  intelligence,  and  the  slight  decline  of  industrial 
demand  has  made  it  possible  to  dismiss  the  inferior  men  and  to 
keep  only  the  more  efficient.  Industry  itself  is  to-day  like  the 
railroads,  thoroughly  sound  and  prosperous,  and  the  small 
fluctuations  in  profits  are  not  nearly  so  great  as  the  declines  in 
market  quotations. 

Financial  operations  and  labour  are  largely  independent  of  each 
other.  The  output  can  be  undisturbed  when  the  value  of  shares 
is  being  wiped  out  in  the  market.  American  stocks  do  not  rep- 
resent the  actual  value  of  the  industrial  plants  which  have  been 
combined  to  form  a  trust,  but  represent  in  part  certain  advan- 
tages which  it  is  calculated  will  accrue  from  the  consolidation  of 
business  —  economies  of  administration  and  obviation  of  com- 
petition. The  real  economic  life  will  not  be  damaged  if  such 
shares,  which  for  the  most  part  have  remained  in  the  strong- 
boxes of  the  very  rich,  decline  from  their  fictitious  values. 
Such  fluctuations  have  always  happened,  and  may  happen  in  the 
very  height  of  prosperity,  without  doing  any  harm  to  industry 
itself.  Thus,  for  instance,  in  1898  an  enormous  over-speculation 
commenced  in  copper  shares.  Their  price  was  artificially  raised 


ECONOMIC  RISE  275 

and  raised,  and  in  the  summer  of  1899  this  house  built  of  share 
certificates  collapsed,  and  great  was  the  fall  thereof;  but  the  price 
of  copper  itself  was  uninfluenced.  A  pound  of  copper  in  the  year 
1897  brought  only  the  average  price  of  1 1  cents;  in  1899  its  average 
price  was  17  cents,  although  the  copper  securities  were  going 
down  steadily.  Not  only  is  industry  itself  on  a  sound  basis,  and 
the  improvements  which  it  introduced  in  the  last  panic  are  not 
only  still  in  force,  but  also  certain  needs  have  now  been  met  at 
home  which  formerly  were  met  only  by  foreign  countries;  and 
at  the  same  time  commerce  has  been  so  energetically  carried 
into  other  countries,  that  there  is  now  a  readier  outlet  than  ever 
in  case  the  domestic  purchasing  power  should  again  be  sus- 
pended. 

But  there  are  still  more  important  factors.  The  first  of  these 
is  the  recent  and  complete  independence  of  this  country  from 
European  capital.  Since  year  after  year  the  exports  of  the 
United  States  to  Europe  have  exceeded  the  imports  by  hundreds  of 
millions  of  dollars,  the  debt  which  Europe  so  contracted  has  been 
paid  for  the  most  part  by  returning  the  industrial  and  other 
bonds  which  Europe  owned  against  America.  It  was  this  which 
had  greatly  contributed  to  the  crisis  in  the  early  nineties;  Europe 
withdrew  her  capital.  In  1892  the  United  States  paid  back 
$500,000,000  of  European  capital,  and  to-day  very  little  is  left 
to  pay.  In  1893  the  United  States  exported  $108,000,000  in 
gold,  but  imported  only  $22,000,000.  In  the  year  1898  the 
imports  of  gold  to  the  United  States  were  $105,000,000  more 
than  the  exports.  Last  year  the  balance  was  still  in  favour  of  the 
United  States;  and  it  would  be  impossible  to-day,  in  case  of 
any  stringency  in  the  money  market  of  the  country,  for  the  with- 
drawal of  European  capital  to  precipitate  a  panic. 

Another  factor  is  that  the  political  situation  is  now  certain, 
as  it  was  not  at  the  time  of  the  last  panic.  The  silver  schemes 
of  the  West  then  filled  the  country  with  apprehension,  whereas 
to-day  there  are  no  such  political  fears.  However  the  Presi- 
dential election  may  turn  out,  there  will  be  no  dangerous  experi- 
ments tried  with  the  currency;  and  even  if  both  parties  should 
mildly  oppose  the  trusts,  the  nation  nevertheless  knows  that  just 
the  formation  of  these  trusts  has  contributed  to  the  steadiness  and 
security  of  economic  prosperity,  that  it  has  done  away  with  un- 


276  THE  AMERICANS 

necessary  competition,  has  brought  about  an  orderly  and  uniform 
production,  and  that  although  the  purchasers  of  watered  stocks 
may  have  been  bitten,  the  purchasers  of  the  finished  products  have 
suffered  little  inconvenience. 

Then  there  are  two  other  factors  whose  significance  for  eco- 
nomic solidity  cannot  be  overestimated.  The  first  of  these  is  the 
increasing  independence  of  the  agricultural  West,  and  the  second 
is  the  industrial  revival  of  the  South.  The  financial  condition 
of  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange  to-day  no  more  represents 
the  industrial  life  of  the  whole  nation,  as  it  did  ten  years  ago. 
The  West,  which  before  the  panic  of  1893  was  up  to  its  ears  in 
debts  owned  by  the  East,  is  now,  by  reason  of  six  tremendous 
harvests,  prosperous  and  independent,  and  its  purchasing  power 
and  business  enterprise  are  no  longer  affected  by  the  fluctuations 
of  Wall  Street.  Even  if  the  shares  of  all  New  Jersey  corporations 
should  collapse,  the  nation  could  continue  to  buy  and  sell,  pro- 
duce, manufacture,  and  transport,  because  the  Western  agricul- 
tural states  would  suffer  no  relapse  of  prosperity.  They  have 
paid  off  their  mortgages  and  laid  money  by;  the  farmer  has  bought 
his  daughter  a  parlour  organ,  sent  his  sons  to  college,  and  bent 
all  his  energies  to  making  his  West  into  an  economic  paradise. 
Migration  has  once  more  set  in  from  the  Eastern  to  the  Western 
States,  while  during  the  poor  years  it  had  almost  stopped;  and 
Western  economic  influence  is  asserting  itself  more  and  more 
in  the  political  field. 

The  same  is  more  or  less  true  of  the  South.  In  former  times, 
whenever  a  cotton  harvest  brought  prosperity,  the  South  still 
did  not  take  the  trouble  to  utilize  its  ample  resources  outside 
of  the  plantations.  It  did  not  try  to  mine  its  coal  and  iron  de- 
posits, nor  exploit  its  forests,  nor  grow  wheat  and  corn,  nor  manu- 
facture cotton  into  cloth,  nor  the  cottonseed  into  oil.  It  left  all 
this  to  the  North.  But  during  hard  times  the  South  has  learned 
its  lesson,  and  at  the  time  of  the  last  great  revival  the  whole  South 
developed  an  almost  undreamed-of  economic  activity.  The  ex- 
ploitation of  forests  and  coal  and  iron  deposits  made  great  strides, 
and  the  factories  turned  out  articles  to  the  value  of  $2,000,000,000. 
Cotton  is  still  the  staple  article  of  the  South,  but  the  bales  no  longer 
have  to  be  sent  to  the  North  to  be  made  into  cloth.  As  early  as 
1899  there  were  5  million  spindles  in  operation,  and  the  manufac- 


ECONOMIC  RISE  277 

ture  of  cotton  has  made  the  South  more  independent  than  any 
number  of  bales  produced  for  export  could  have  made  it. 

This  economic  independence  of  one  another  of  large  sections 
of  the  country,  and  at  the  same  time  of  European  capital,  com- 
bined with  the  large  increase  of  commerce  with  the  whole  world, 
the  improvement  in  economic  appliances,  and  a  surprising  growth 
in  technical  science  and  technical  instruction,  has  created  a  na- 
tional economic  situation  which  is  so  different  from  that  which 
prevailed  in  the  beginning  of  the  nineties,  that  there  is  no  analogy 
to  justify  the  pessimist  in  predicting  another  such  panic.  It  had  to 
come  at  that  time.  Industrial  forces  had  suffered  a  serious  disaster 
and  had  to  go  back  to  camp  in  order  to  recuperate.  Since  then 
they  have  been  striding  forward,  swerving  a  little  now  and  then, 
it  maybe,  to  avoid  some  obstacle,  but  they  are  still  marching  on  as 
they  have  marched  for  seven  years  with  firm  and  steady  step, 
and  keeping  time  with  the  world-power  tune  which  the  national 
government  is  playing. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

The  Economic  Problems 

WE  have  aimed  to  speak  of  the  American  as  he  appears 
in  the  economic  world  —  of  the  American  in  his  actual 
economic  life  and  strife  —  rather  than  merely  of  his  inani- 
mate manufactures.  That  is,  we  have  wished  specially  to  show 
what  forces  have  been  at  work  in  his  soul  to  keep  him  thus 
busied  with  progress.  And  although  we  have  gone  somewhat 
further,  in  order  to  trace  the  economic  uplift  of  the  last  decades, 
nevertheless  we  have  chiefly  aimed  merely  to  show  the  work- 
ings of  his  mind  and  heart  —  not  the  economic  history  of  the 
American,  but  the  American  as  little  by  little  he  builds  that 
history,  has  been  the  point  of  interest. 

Seen  from  this  point  of  view,  everything  which  stands  in  the 
foreground  of  the  actual  conflict  becomes  of  secondary  interest 
The  problems  leading  to  party  grievances  which  are  solved  now 
one  way,  now  another,  and  which  specially  concern  different 
portions  of  society,  different  occupations  or  geographical  sec- 
tions, contribute  very  little  to  reveal  the  traits  that  are  common 
to  all  sections,  and  that  must,  therefore,  belong  to  the  typical 
American  character.  If  we  have  given  less  thought  to  the  po- 
litical problems  of  the  day  than  to  the  great  enduring  principles 
of  democracy,  we  need  still  less  concern  ourselves  with  the  dis- 
putes of  the  moment  in  the  economic  field.  The  problems  of 
protection,  of  industrial  organization,  of  bimetallism,  and  of 
labour  unions  are  not  problems  for  which  a  solution  can  be 
attempted  here. 

And  nevertheless,  we  must  not  pass  by  all  the  various  con- 
siderations which  bear  on  these  questions.  We  might  neglect  them 
as  problems  of  American  economy;  and  purely  technical  matters, 
like  bank  reform  or  irrigation,  we  shall  indeed  not  discuss.  But 


SILVER  QUESTION  279 

as  problems  which  profoundly  perplex  the  national  mind,  exercise 
its  best  powers,  and  develop  its  Americanism,  silver,  trusts, 
tariff,  and  labour  unions  require  minuter  consideration.  The 
life  and  endeavour  of  the  Americans  are  not  described  if  their 
passionate  interest  in  such  economic  difficulties  is  not  taken 
into  account;  not,  once  more,  as  problems  which  objectively 
influence  the  developing  nation,  but  as  problems  which  agitate 
the  spirit  of  the  American.  An  exhaustive  treatment  is,  of 
course,  out  of  the  question,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  that  it 
would  distort  our  perspective  of  things.  Had  we  only  the  ob- 
jective side  of  the  problems  to  consider,  we  might,  perhaps,  doubt 
even  whether  there  were  any  problems;  whether  they  were  not 
rather  simple  events,  bringing  in  their  train  certain  obvious 
consequences,  whether  deplorable  or  desirable.  These  economic 
problems  are,  indeed,  not  in  the  least  problematical.  The  silver 
question  will  not  be  brought  up  again;  the  trusts  will  not  be 
dissolved;  the  protective  tariff  will  not  be  taken  off  and  labour 
unions  will  not  be  gotten  rid  of.  These  are  all  natural  processes, 
rather  than  problems;  but  the  fact  that  these  events  work  di- 
versely on  men's  feelings,  are  greeted  here  with  delight  and  there 
with  consternation,  and  are  accompanied  by  a  general  chorus 
of  joy  and  pain,  gives  the  impression  that  they  are  problems. 
This  impression  seizes  the  American  himself  so  profoundly 
that  his  own  reaction  comes  to  be  an  objective  factor  of  importance 
in  making  history.  It  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  the  course  of 
these  much-discussed  economic  movements  is  considerably  influ- 
enced by  prejudices,  sentiments,  and  hobbies. 

The  Silver  Question 

K 

Perhaps  the  power  of  mere  ideas  —  of  those  which  are  clear, 
and,  even  more,  those  which  are  confused  —  is  shown  in  none  of 
these  problems  more  strongly  than  in  the  silver  question.  If 
any  problem  has  been  really  solved,  it  is  this  one;  and  still  no  one 
can  say  that  it  has  dropped  out  of  the  American  mind,  although, 
for  strategic  reasons,  politicians  ignore  it.  The  sparks  of  the 
fire  still  glow  under  the  ashes  of  two  Presidential  campaigns. 
The  silver  schemes  have  too  strongly  fixed  public  attention  to 
be  so  quickly  forgotten,  and  any  day  may  see  them  revive  again. 
Just  here  the  possibility  of  prejudices  which  would  not  profit 


28o  THE  AMERICANS 

by  experience  has  been  remarkably  large,  since  the  question  of 
currency  involves  such  complicated  conceptions  that  fallacious 
arguments  are  difficult  to  refute.  And  such  a  situation  is  just 
the  one  where  the  battle  of  opinions  can  be  waged  the  hottest: 
the  silver  question  has,  in  fact,  more  excited  the  nation  than  any 
other  economic  problem  of  the  last  ten  years.  And  there  can  be 
no  doubt  that  many  valid  arguments  have  been  urged  on  the 
wrong  side,  and  some  untenable  theses  on  the  right  side. 

The  starting-point  of  the  discussion  lay  in  the  law  of  1873, 
which,  for  the  first  time  in  the  United  States,  excluded  silver 
coin  from  the  official  currency.  There  had  already  been  dif- 
ferences of  opinion  before  the  passage  of  this  law.  The  friends  of 
silver  say  that  in  1792  the  United  States  permitted  the  coinage  of 
both  silver  and  gold  without  limit,  and  that  silver  was  the  actual 
monetary  standard.  And,  although  by  accidents  of  production 
the  relative  value  of  the  precious  metals,  which  had  been  15  to  I, 
later  became  16  to  I,  nevertheless  the  two  metals  continued  to 
be  regarded  equally  important  until  the  surreptitious  crime  of 
1873.  It  was  a  secret  crime,  they  say,  because  the  law  was 
debated  and  published  at  a  time  when  the  nation  could  have  no 
clear  idea  of  what  it  meant.  The  Civil  War  had  driven  gold 
coin  out  of  the  country,  every  one  was  using  paper,  and  no  one 
stopped  to  ask  whether  this  paper  would  be  redeemed  in  gold 
or  silver,  and  no  one  was  accustomed  to  seeing  gold  coins  in  cir- 
culation. General  Grant,  who  was  President  at  that  time, 
signed  the  bill  without  any  suspicion  that  it  was  anything  more 
than  a  technical  measure,  much  less  that  it  was  a  criminal  hold- 
up of  the  nation  on  the  part  of  the  rich.  And  great  was  the 
disaster;  for  the  law  demonetized  silver,  brought  a  stringency 
of  gold,  lowered  prices  tremendously,  depressed  the  condition 
of  the  nation,  and  brought  the  farmers  to  poverty,  so  it  was  said. 

The  opponents  of  bimetallism  recognize  no  truth  in  this 
story.  They  say  that  in  the  first  third  of  the  nineteenth  century 
the  silver  dollar  was  counted  equal  to  the  gold  dollar,  at  the  ratio 
of  15  ounces  to  I  ounce  of  metal;  but  since  this  ratio  did  not  con- 
tinue to  correspond  with  the  market  price,  and  the  gold  of  the 
country  went  to  Europe,  because  it  there  brought  a  better  value, 
the  official  ratio  was  changed  as  early  as  1834  to  16  to  i.  This 
rate  put  a  small  premium  on  gold,  and  virtually  established  a  gold 


SILVER  QUESTION  281 

standard  for  American  currency.  The  owners  of  silver  mines 
no  longer  had  silver  coined  in  the  country,  because  they  could 
get  more  money  for  their  silver  bars  abroad;  and  so,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  during  the  next  decade  only  8  million  silver  dollars  were 
coined,  and  this  denomination  virtually  went  out  of  circulation. 
Only  the  fractional  silver  currency  could  be  kept  in  the  country, 
and  that  only  by  resorting  to  the  trick  of  making  the  coins  pro- 
portionately lighter  than  the  legal  weight  of  the  silver  dollar. 

The  currency  became,  therefore,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  a 
gold  one,  and  nobody  was  discontented  with  it,  because  silver 
was  then  less  mined.  From  1851  to  1855,  for  instance,  the  average 
silver  production  of  the  United  States  was  only  $375,000,  while 
that  of  gold  was  $62,000,000.  Then  came  the  lean  years  of  the 
Rebellion.  The  government  borrowed  from  the  banks,  in  the 
autumn  of  1861,  $100,000,000  in  gold,  and  in  the  following  year 
issued  $150,000,000  of  unsecured  greenbacks.  Thereupon  the 
natural  laws  of  exchange  drove  all  sound  currency  out  of  the 
country,  and  $150,000,000  more  greenbacks  were  soon  issued. 
The  premium  on  gold  went  higher  and  higher,  and  reached  its 
highest  point  in  1864,  when  the  price  was  185  per  cent,  of  the 
normal  value.  After  the  war  confidence  was  restored,  the  paper 
dollar  rose  from  43  to  80  cents;  but  the  quantity  of  paper  in  cir- 
culation was  so  tremendous  that  metallic  money  was  never  seen, 
and  not  until  the  early  seventies  did  conditions  become  solid 
enough  for  the  treasury  to  take  steps  to  redeem  the  greenbacks. 

But  this  was  just  the  time  when  all  the  civilized  nations  were 
adopting  the  gold  standard  —  a  time  in  which  the  production  of 
gold  had  become  incredibly  large.  The  two  decades  between  1850 
and  1870  had  brought  five  times  as  much  gold  bullion  into  the 
world  as  the  preceding  two  decades,  and  the  leading  financiers 
of  all  countries  were  agreed  that  it  was  high  time  to  make  gold 
the  universal  standard  of  exchange.  The  general  movement 
was  begun  in  the  conference  of  1867  held  in  Paris.  Germany 
led  in  adopting  the  gold  standard;  the  United  States  followed 
in  1873.  The  gold  dollar,  which  since  the  middle  of  the  century 
had  been  the  actual  standard  of  American  currency,  became  now 
the  official  standard,  and  silver  coinage  was  discontinued.  There 
was  nothing  of  secrecy  or  premeditated  injustice,  for  the  debates 
lasted  through  several  sessions  of  Congress. 


282  THE  AMERICANS 

If,  nevertheless,  the  so-called  crime  remained  unnoticed,  and  so 
many  Senators  failed  to  know  what  they  were  doing,  this  was  not 
because  the  transactions  went  on  in  secret,  nor  because  the  use 
of  paper  money  had  made  every  one  forget  the  problems  of  me- 
tallic currency,  but  rather  because  no  one  felt  at  that  time  that 
he  would  be  injured  by  the  new  measure,  although  the  attention 
of  everybody  had  been  called  to  the  discussions.  The  owners 
of  silver  mines  themselves  had  no  interest  in  having  their  mineral 
made  into  coin,  and  no  one  was  disturbed  to  see  silver  go  out  of 
circulation.  All  the  trouble  and  all  the  hue  and  cry  about  a 
secret  plot  did  not  commence  until  several  years  later,  when,  for 
entirely  independent  reasons,  circumstances  had  considerably 
changed.  The  step  had  been  taken,  however,  and  the  principle 
has  not  been  repudiated.  The  unlimited  coinage  of  silver  has 
not  been  permitted  by  the  United  States  since  1873. 

Nevertheless,  silver  was  destined  soon  again  to  become  regular 
currency.  Hard  times  followed  the  year  1873,  prices  fell  and 
the  value  of  silver  fell  with  them,  and  bimetallic  coinage  had 
been  discontinued.  Bimetallists  connected  these  facts,  and 
said  that  the  price  of  silver  fell  because  the  commercial  world 
had  stopped  coining  it.  For  this  reason  the  only  other  coined 
metal,  which  was  gold,  became  dear,  which  meant,  of  course,  that 
prices  became  cheap,  and  that  the  farmer  got  a  low  price  for  his 
harvests.  And  thus  the  population  was  driven  into  a  sort  of 
panic. 

A  ready  expedient  was  suggested:  it  was  to  coin  silver  once 
more,  since  that  would  carry  off  the  surplus  and  raise  the  price; 
while  on  the  other  hand,  the  increased  amount  of  coin  in  circu- 
lation would  bring  prices  up  and  restore  the  prosperity  of  the 
farmers  and  artisans.  This  is  the  main  argument  which  was 
first  heard  in  1876,  and  was  cried  abroad  with  increasing  loudness 
until  twenty  years  later  it  was  not  merely  preached,  but  shouted 
by  frenzied  masses,  and  still  in  1900,  misled  the  Democratic 
party.  But  the  desire  for  an  increased  medium  of  circulation  is 
by  no  means  the  same  as  the  demand  for  silver  coinage.  After 
the  Civil  War  the  public  had  demanded  more  greenbacks  just 
as  clamorously  as  it  now  demanded  silver.  It  was  also  convinced 
that  nothing  but  currency  was  needed  to  make  high  values,  no 
matter  what  the  value  of  the  currency  itself. 


SILFER  QUESTION  283 

So  far  as  these  main  facts  are  concerned,  which  have  been  so 
unjustly  brought  into  connection,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  depreciation  of  silver  was  brought  about  only  in  very  small 
part  by  the  coinage  laws.  To  be  sure,  the  cessation  of  silver 
coinage  by  several  large  commercial  powers  had  its  effect  on  the 
value  of  silver;  but  India,  China,  and  other  countries  remained 
ready  to  absorb  large  amounts  of  silver  for  coinage;  and  in  fact 
the  consumption  of  silver  increased  steadily  for  a  long  time.  The 
real  point  was  that  the  production  of  silver  increased  tremen- 
dously at  just  the  time  when  the  production  of  gold  was  falling 
off.  From  1851  to  1875,  $127,000,000  worth  of  gold  on  an  aver- 
age was  mined  annually,  but  from  1876  to  1890  the  average  was 
only  $108,000,000;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  average  produc- 
tion of  silver  in  those  first  twenty-five  years  was  only  $51,000,000, 
but  in  the  following  fifteen  years  came  up  to  $116,000,000. 
The  output  of  gold  therefore  decreased  15  per  cent.,  while  that  of 
silver  increased  127  per  cent.  Of  course,  then  silver  depreciated. 
Now  the  future  was  soon  to  show  that  increased  coinage  of  silver 
would  not-raise  its  price.  Above  all,  it  was  an  arbitrary  miscon- 
struction to  ascribe  bad  times  to  the  lack  of  circulating  medium. 
Later  times  have  shown  that,  under  the  complicated  credit  system 
of  the  country,  prices  do  not  depend  on  the  amount  of  legal 
tender  in  circulation  in  the  industrial  world.  The  speed  of  cir- 
culation is  a  factor  of  equal  importance  with  the  amount  of  it;  and, 
most  important  of  all,  is  the  total  credit,  which  has  no  relation 
to  the  amount  of  metallic  currency.  When  more  money  was 
coined  it  remained  for  the  time  being  unused,  and  could  not  be 
put  in  circulation  until  the  industrial  situation  recovered  from  its 
depression. 

Thus  the  bad  times  of  the  seventies  were  virtually  independent 
of  coinage  legislation:  but  public  agitation  had  set  in,  and  as 
early  as  1878  met  with  considerable  success.  In  that  year  the 
so-called  Bland  Bill  was  passed,  over  the  veto  of  President 
Hayes,  which  required  the  treasury  of  the  United  States  to 
purchase  and  coin  silver  bars  to  the  value  of  not  less  than  2  million, 
and  not  more  than  four  million,  dollars  every  month.  This 
measure  satisfied  neither  the  one  side  nor  the  other.  The  sil- 
verites  wanted  unlimited  coinage  of  silver;  for,  if  a  limit  was  put, 
the  standard  was  still  gold,  even  though  the  price  of  silver  should 


THE  AMERICANS 

be  somewhat  helped.  The  other  side  saw  simply  that  the  currency 
of  the  country  would  be  flooded  with  depreciated  metal,  and  one 
which  was  really  an  unofficial  and  illegal  circulating  medium. 
It  was  known  that  the  silver,  after  being  coined  into  dollars, 
would  be  worth  more  than  its  market  value,  and  it  was  already 
predicted  that  all  the  actual  gold  of  the  country  would  be  taken 
abroad  and  replaced  by  silver.  The  "gold  bugs"  also  saw  that 
this  legislation  would  artificially  stimulate  the  mining  of  silver 
if  there  should  actually  be  any  increase  in  its  price. 

The  new  law  was  thus  a  bad  compromise  between  two  parties, 
although  to  many  it  seemed  like  a  safe  middle  way  between  two 
dangers.  Some  recognized  in  the  unlimited  coinage  of  silver 
the  dangers  of  a  depreciated  currency,  but  believed  that  the 
adoption  of  the  gold  standard  would  be  no  less  dangerous,  be- 
cause gold  was  too  scarce  to  satisfy  the  needs  of  the  commercial 
world.  It  was  said  that  free  silver  would  poison  the  social  organ- 
ism and  free  gold  would  strangle  it,  and  that  limited  silver  coinage, 
along  with  unlimited  gold  coinage,  would  therefore  be  the  only 
safe  thing. 

But  it  soon  appeared  that  such  legal  provisions  would  have  no 
effect  in  restoring  the  value  of  the  white  metal.  Although  the 
government  facilitated  in  every  way  the  circulation  of  the  new 
silver  coins,  they  nevertheless  came  back  to  the  treasury.  No 
matter  how  many  silver  dollars  were  distributed  as  wages,  they 
found  their  way  at  once  to  the  retail  shops,  then  to  the  banks,  and 
then  to  Washington.  It  appeared  that  the  nation  could  not  keep 
more  than  sixty  or  seventy  million  dollars'  worth  in  circulation, 
while  there  were  already  more  than  $400,000,000  lying  idle 
in  Washington.  The  banks  boycotted  silver  at  first;  but  the 
more  important  fact  was  that  the  price  of  silver  did  not  rise,  but 
kept  on  falling.  It  was  the  amount  produced  and  naturally 
consumed,  and  not  the  amount-  coined,  which  regulated  the 
price  of  silver.  In  the  year  1889  the  relative  values  of  silver 
and  gold  were  as  22  to  I ;  and  the  true  value  of  the  silver  dollar 
coined  under  the  Bland  Bill  was  only  seventy-two  cents.  Con- 
gress now  proposed  to  take  a  more  serious  measure  looking  toward 
a  higher  price  for  silver. 

In  July,  1890,  a  law  was  passed  whereby  the  treasury  was 
obliged  to  buy  four  and  one-half  million  ounces  of  silver  every 


SILVER  QUESTION  285 

month  at  the  market  price,  and  against  this  to  issue  treasury 
certificates  to  the  corresponding  amount,  which  should  be  re- 
deemable either  in  gold  or  silver;  since,  as  that  law  declared,  the 
United  States  asserted  the  equal  status  of  the  two  metals.  The 
law  did  not  prescribe  the  number  of  silver  certificates  which  were 
to  be  issued,  since  the  weight  of  silver  to  be  purchased  was  fixed 
and  the  value  of  it  depended  on  the  market.  Only  a  few  months 
afterward  it  became  clear  that  even  this  energetic  stroke  would 
not  much  help  the  price  of  silver.  The  silver  and  gold  dollars 
would  have  been  really  equal  to  each  other  if  an  ounce  of  silver 
had  brought  a  market  price  of  $1.29.  In  August,  1890,  silver 
came  up  to  $1.21  an  ounce,  and  fell  the  next  year  to  $1.00,  and 
in  1892  to  $0.85.  But  while  the  price  of  silver  was  falling,  gold 
was  rapidly  leaving  the  country. 

In  April,  1893,  the  gold  reserve  of  the  treasury  fell  for  the  first 
time  below  the  traditional  hundred  millions.  It  was  a  time  of 
severe  economic  depression.  The  silverites  still  believed  that  the 
rise  of  silver  had  not  commenced  because  its  purchase  was  re- 
stricted to  monthly  installments,  and  they  clamoured  for  unlimited 
purchases  of  silver.  But  the  nation  opposed  this  policy  energet- 
ically. President  Cleveland  called  an  extra  session  of  Congress, 
and  after  a  bitter  fight  in  the  Senate,  the  law  providing  for  the 
purchases  of  silver  and  issue  of  silver  certificates  was  repealed,  in 
November  of  1893.  The  Democratic  party  had  split  on  this 
measure,  and  then  arose  the  two  divisions,  the  Gold  Demo- 
crats who  followed  Cleveland,  and  the  Silver  Democrats  who 
found  a  leader  a  year  later  in  Bryan,  and  dictated  the  policy  of 
the  Democratic  party  for  the  following  decade. 

Looking  on  American  economic  history  from  the  early  seven- 
ties to  the  middle  nineties  without  prejudice,  one  cannot  doubt 
not  only  that  the  entire  legislation  relative  to  coinage  has  had 
scarcely  any  influence  on  the  price  of  gold  and  silver  —  since  the 
price  of  silver  has  fallen  steadily  in  spite  of  the  enormous  amounts 
purchased  —  but  also  that  the  general  industrial  situation,  the 
movement  of  prices,  and  the  volume  of  business  have  been  very 
little  affected  by  these  financial  measures. 

The  strongest  influence  which  they  have  had  has  been  a  moral 
one.  Business  became  active  and  foreign  commerce  revived  as 
soon  as  the  confidence  in  the  American  currency  was  restored. 


286  THE  AMERICANS 

This  result,  of  course,  contradicted  the  expectations  and  wishes  of 
the  apostles  of  silver.  International  confidence  declined  in  propor- 
tion as  a  legal  tender  standing  for  a  depreciated  metal  was  forced 
into  circulation.  It  was  not  the  amount  of  silver,  but  the  fear  of 
other  countries  as  to  what  that  amount  might  become,  which  most 
injured  American  commerce.  And  the  great  achievement  of  Cleve- 
land's Administration  was  to  reassure  the  world  of  our  solidity. 

Otherwise  the  economic  fluctuations  depended  on  events  which 
were  very  little  related  to  the  actual  amount  of  gold  on  hand. 
If,  in  certain  years,  the  amount  of  circulation  increased,  it  was 
the  result  rather  than  the  cause  of  industrial  activity;  and  when, 
in  other  years,  a  speculative  movement  collapsed,  less  money  was 
used  afterward,  but  the  shortage  of  money  did  not  cause  the 
collapse.  Then,  too,  harvests  were  sometimes  good  and  at  other 
times  bad,  and  foreign  commerce  changed  in  dependence  on 
quite  external  events  in  Europe.  There  were,  moreover,  certain 
technical  improvements  in  agricultural  and  industrial  processes 
which  rapidly  lowered  prices  and  which  took  effect  at  independent 
times  and  seasons. 

The  year  1893  was  a  time  in  which  a  great  many  factors  worked 
in  one  direction.  The  overbuilding  of  railways  and  a  too  great 
expansion  of  iron  industries  had  been  followed  by  a  terrible 
reaction;  a  surplus  of  commodities  on  all  the  markets  of  the 
world  caused  prices  to  fall,  and  the  international  distrust  of 
silver  legislation  in  the  United  States  made  the  situation  worse. 
European  capital,  on  which  all  undertakings  then  depended,  was 
hurriedly  withdrawn;  thousands  of  businesses  failed,  and  small 
men  fell  into  debt.  The  actual  panic  did  not  last  long,  and 
Cleveland's  successful  move  of  1893  restored  the  international 
confidence.  But  the  situation  of  the  general  public  was  not  so 
readily  improved.  This  was  the  psychological  moment  in  which 
the  silver  question,  which  had  hitherto  interested  relatively  re- 
stricted circles,  so  suddenly  came  to  excite  the  entire  nation  that 
in  1896  the  main  issue  of  the  Presidential  campaign  was  silver  or 
gold  currency.  The  silver  craze  spread  most  rapidly  among  the 
farmers,  who  had  suffered  more  from  overproduction  than  had 
the  manufacturers.  The  manufacturer  sold  his  wares  more  cheap- 
ly, but  in  greater  quantities,  because  he  improved  his  methods, 
and,  moreover,  he  bought  his  raw  materials  more  cheaply.  But 


SILVER  QUESTION  287 

the  fall  in  the  prices  of  wheat  and  corn  and  other  agricultural 
products  which  affected  the  farmer  was  only  in  small  part  due 
to  more  intensive  cultivation,  but  rather  to  the  greater  area 
of  land  which  had  been  planted.  The  farmer  in  one  state  was 
not  benefited  by  the  fact  that  great  areas  in  some  other  state 
were  now  for  the  first  time  laid  down  to  wheat  and  corn.  As 
prices  fell  he  produced  no  more,  and  thus  agriculture  suffered 
more  severely  than  industry.  While  the  farmer  was  able  to  get 
for  two  sheaves  of  wheat  only  as  much  as  he  used  to  get  for  one, 
he  thought,  of  course,  that  his  patrons  had  too  little  money,  and 
was  readily  convinced  that  if  more  money  could  only  be  coined, 
he  would  get  good  prices  again. 

There  was  another  argument  in  addition  to  this,  which  could 
still  even  more  easily  be  imposed  on  the  ignorant,  and  not  only 
on  the  farmer,  but  on  all  classes  that  were  in  debt.  Silver  was 
cheaper  than  gold,  and  if  debts  were  paid  in  it  the  creditor  lost 
and  the  debtor  won.  It  was  at  this  time  that  the  conflict  of  in- 
terests between  the  great  capitalists  and  the  labouring  masses 
began  to  arouse  political  excitement.  Distrust  found  its  way  into 
a  good  part  of  the  population,  and  finally  a  hatred  of  capitalists 
and  monopolies,  and  of  the  stock  market  most  of  all. 

This  hatred  vented  itself  in  a  mad  clamour  for  silver.  If  Con- 
gress would  authorize  an  unlimited  silver  coinage  at  the  ratio  of  16 
to  i,  while  the  market  ratio  was  down  to  33  to  I  —  so  that  the  silver 
dollar  would  be  worth  hardly  fifty  cents,  and  so  that  the  farmer 
could  sell  his  wheat  or  maize  for  a  dollar  when  it  was  really  worth 
but  half  a  dollar  —  then  at  last  the  robbers  on  the  stock  exchange 
would  be  well  come  up  with.  In  reality,  these  two  arguments 
contradicted  each  other,  for  the  farmer  would  be  benefited 
by  more  silver  money  only  if  the  market  value  of  silver  could 
be  brought  up  to  that  of  gold;  while  he  would  be  favoured  in  the 
payment  of  debts  only  if  gold  could  be  brought  down  to  the  value 
of  silver.  But  once  let  there  be  any  sort  of  distress,  and  any 
ghost  of  relief  haunting  the  general  mind,  then  logic  is  totally 
forgotten.  A  new  faith  arises,  the  power  of  which  lies  in  sug- 
gestion. The  call  for  free-silver  coinage  at  the  old  ratio  of  16 
to  i  fascinated  the  agricultural  masses  as  well  as  the  lower  classes 
in  cities,  just  as  the  idea  of  a  future  state  of  socialism  fascinates 
German  working-men  to-day. 


288  THE  AMERICANS 

And  just  as  one  cannot  understand  the  German  people  without 
taking  into  account  their  socialistic  delusions,  so  one  cannot  un- 
derstand the  American  masses  to-day  without  tracing  out  the 
course  of  the  silver  propaganda.  It  was  the  organizing  power  of  a 
watchword  which  gave  the  delusion  such  significance,  and  which, 
for  perhaps  the  first  time,  gave  voice  to  the  aversion  which  the 
masses  felt  toward  the  wealthy  classes;  and  so,  like  the  socialistic 
movement  in  Germany,  it  took  effect  in  far  wider  circles  than  the 
points  over  which  the  discussion  started  would  have  justified. 

But  the  masses  could  hardly  be  stirred  up  to  such  a  powerful 
agitation  merely  on  the  basis  of  the  specious  arguments  spread 
about  by  ignorant  fanatics,  or  even  with  the  substantial  support 
of  the  indebted  farmer.  In  the  middle  nineties  the  literature 
of  the  silver  question  swelled  enormously.  A  mere  appeal  to 
the  passions  of  those  who  hated  capital  would  not  have  been 
enough,  and  even  the  argument  that  the  amount  of  money  in  a 
country  alone  regulates  prices  could  have  been  refuted  once 
for  all.  A  financial  and  an  intellectual  impetus  were  both 
necessary  to  the  agitation,  and  both  were  to  be  had.  Distin- 
guished political  economists  saw  clearly  certain  unfairnesses 
and  evils  in  a  simple  gold  standard,  and  urged  many  an  argument 
for  bimetallism  which  the  masses  did  not  wholly  follow,  but  which 
provided  material  for  general  discussion.  And  financial  aid  for  the 
silver  side  flowed  freely  from  the  pockets  of  those  who  owned 
silver  mines.  Of  course,  there  was  no  doubt  that  these  mine- 
owners  would  be  tremendously  prospered  by  any  radical  legis- 
lation for  silver.  In  the  days  of  the  Bland  Bill  even  the  poorest 
silver  mines  were  in  active  operation,  whereas  now  everything 
was  quiet.  The  discussions  which  ostensibly  urged  the  right  of 
the  poor  man  against  the  rich  said  nothing  at  all  of  the  deep 
schemes  of  the  silver-mine  owners.  These  men  did  not  urge 
their  claims  openly,  but  they  paid  their  money  and  played  the 
game  shrewdly. 

We  have  already  fully  compared  the  political  traits  of  the  two 
parties;  and  it  will  be  understood  at  once  that  the  contest  for 
silver,  as  a  movement  for  the  rights  of  the  poor  man  against  those 
of  the  capitalist,  would  have  to  be  officially  waged  by  the 
Democratic  party,  while  the  Republican  party  would,  of  course, 
take  the  other  side.  The  nation  fought  out  the  great  battle  in 


TARIFF  QUESTION  289 

two  heated  Presidential  campaigns;  and  in  1896  as  well  as  in 
1900,  the  contest  was  decided  in  favour  of  the  gold  currency. 
The  currency  legislation  of  the  Republican  Congresses  has  held 
to  a  conservative  course.  In  March,  of  1900,  the  treasury 
was  instructed,  on  demand,  to  redeem  all  United  States  notes  in 
gold,  so  that  all  the  money  in  circulation  came  to  have  absolutely 
the  same  value.  The  old  silver  certificates,  of  which  to-day 
$450,000,000  are  in  circulation,  can  at  any  time  be  exchanged 
for  gold  coin,  and  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  was  entirely 
right  in  showing  in  his  last  annual  report  that  it  was  this  wise 
provision  alone  which  obviated  a  panic  at  the  time  when  stock 
market  quotations  dropped  so  suddenly  in  the  year  1903.  Thus 
the  finances  of  the  country  are  definitely  on  a  gold  basis. 

But,  as  we  have  said,  we  are  not  interested  in  the  material 
aspects  of  the  currency  situation,  and  still  less  shall  we  undertake 
a  profound  discussion  of  bimetallism,  as  scientific  circles  are  to- 
day considering  it.  The  significance  of  a  limited  double  stand- 
ard, especially  in  view  of  the  commerce  with  the  East,  and  of  the 
effect  it  will  have  in  quieting  the  international  struggle  to  get 
the  yellow  metal,  is  much  discussed  by  thoughtful  persons.  The 
United  States  have  sent  a  special  commission  to  visit  other  countries 
in  order  to  persuade  them  that  some  international  agreement  as 
to  the  monetary  recognition  of  silver  is  desirable. 

All  this  does  not  interest  us.  We  care  for  the  silver  question 
only  as  a  social  movement.  No  other  problem  has  so  pro- 
foundly moved  the  nation;  even  the  questions  of  expansion 
and  imperialism  have  so  far  aroused  less  general  interest.  It  is 
only  too  likely  that  if  hard  times  return  once  more,  the  old 
craze  will  be  revived  in  one  form  or  another.  The  silver  intoxi- 
cation is  not  over  to-day,  and  the  western  part  of  the  country 
is  merely  for  the  moment  too  busy  bringing  its  tremendous 
crops  to  harvest,  and  carrying  its  gold  back  home,  to  think  of 
anything  else. 

The  Tariff  Question 

The  silver  question,  which  was  of  such  great  significance  yester- 
day, was  very  complicated,  and  only  very  few  who  discussed  it 
knew  all  the  difficulties  which  it  involved.  This  is  not  true  of 
the  tariff  question,  which  may  at  any  time  become  the  main  polit- 


290  THE  AMERICANS 

teal  issue.  As  the  problem  of  protective  tariff  is  generally  dis- 
cussed, it  involves  only  the  simplest  ideas. 

The  dispute  has  come  from  a  conflict  of  principle  and  motive, 
but  not  from  any  difference  of  opinion  as  to  the  effect  of  pro- 
tective measures.  Here  and  there  it  has  been  maintained,  as 
it  has  in  other  countries,  that  the  foreigner  pays  the  tariff;  and 
this  argument  has,  indeed,  occasioned  keen  and  complicated  dis- 
cussions. But,  for  the  most  part,  no  academic  questions  are 
involved,  rather  conditions  merely  which  are  obvious  to  all,  but 
toward  which  people  feel  very  differently,  according  to  their  oc- 
cupation, geographical  position,  and  political  convictions.  The 
struggle  is  not  to  be  conceived  as  one  between  protective  tariff 
and  free  trade,  but  rather  as  between  more  or  less  protective 
tariff — since,  in  spite  of  variations,  the  United  States  have, 
from  the  very  outset,  enacted  a  tariff  greater  than  the  needs  of 
the  public  treasury,  with  the  idea  of  protecting  domestic  labour 
from  foreign  competition. 

Indeed,  it  can  be  said  that  the  policy  of  protection  belongs 
even  to  the  prehistory  of  the  United  States,  and  that  it  has  con- 
tributed measurably  to  building  up  the  Union.  While  America 
was  an  English  colony,  England  took  care  to  suppress  American 
industries;  agriculture  and  trade  were  to  constitute  the  business  of 
the  colonists.  The  War  for  Independence  altered  the  situation, 
and  native  industries  began  to  develop,  and  they  had  made  a 
brave  start  in  many  states  before  the  war  was  ended.  But  as 
soon  as  the  ties  with  England  had  been  broken,  the  separate 
states  manifested  diverse  interests,  and  interfered  in  their  trade 
with  one  another  by  enacting  customs  regulations.  It  looked  as 
if  a  tariff  war  on  American  soil  would  be  the  first  fruits  of  free- 
dom from  the  common  oppressor.  There  was  no  central  power 
to  represent  common  interests,  to  fix  uniform  revenues  for  the 
general  good,  and  uniform  protection  for  the  industry  of  the 
country.  And  when  one  state  after  another  was  persuaded  to 
give  up  its  individual  rights  to  the  Federation,  one  of  the  main 
considerations  was  the  annulment  of  such  interstate  customs, 
which  were  hindering  economic  development,  and  the  establish- 
ment of  a  uniform  protection  for  industry.  The  tariff  law  of 
1789  contained,  first  of  all,  such  provisions  as  ensured  the  neces- 
sary public  revenue,  tariff  on  goods  in  whose  manufacture  the 


TARIFF  QUESTION  291 

Americans  did  not  compete;  and  then  other  tariffs  which  were 
meant  to  protect  American  industries. 

So,  at  the  outset,  the  principle  of  protective  tariff  was  made 
an  official  policy  by  the  United  States;  and  since,  through  the 
highly  diversified  history  of  more  than  eleven  decades,  the  nation 
has  still  held  instinctively  to  this  policy,  we  can  hardly  doubt 
that  the  external  and  internal  conditions  under  which  the  country 
has  stood  have  been  favourable  to  such  a  policy.  The  tremendous 
natural  resources,  especially  of  iron,  copper,  lumber,  fur,  cotton, 
wool,  and  other  raw  materials,  and  the  inexhaustible  supply  of 
energy  in  the  coal-fields,  oil-wells,  and  water-falls,  have  afforded 
the  material  conditions  without  which  an  industrial  independ- 
ence would  have  been  impossible.  The  optimistic  American 
has  found  himself  in  this  land  of  plenty  with  his  energy,  his  in- 
ventive genius,  and  his  spirit  of  self-determination.  It  was  pre- 
destined that  the  nation  should  not  only  till  the  fields,  produce 
raw  materials,  and  engage  in  trade,  but  that  it  should  set  stoutly 
to  work  to  develop  its  own  industries.  Therefore,  it  seemed  nat- 
ural to  pass  l£ws  to  help  these  along,  although  the  non-industrial 
portions  of  the  country,  and  all  classes  which  were  not  engaged 
in  industry,  were  for  a  time  inconvenienced  by  higher  prices. 

Once  launched,  the  country  drifted  further  and  further  in  the 
direction  of  protective  duties.  In  1804  a  tariff  was  enacted  on 
iron  and  on  glassware,  with  unquestionably  protective  intent. 
It  is  true  that,  in  general,  the  principal  increases  in  the  beginning 
of  the  century  were  planned  to  accelerate  the  national  income. 
The  War  of  1812  especially  caused  all  tariffs  to  be  doubled.  But 

Pthis  war  stirred  up  patriotism  and  a  general  belief  in  the  abilities 
of  the  nation.  Native  industries  were  now  supported  by  patriotic 
enthusiasm,  so  that  in  1816  the  duties  on  cotton  and  woollen  goods 
and  on  manufactured  iron  were  increased  for  the  sake  of  protec- 
tion. And  the  movement  went  on.  New  tariff  clauses  were 
enacted,  and  new  friends  won  over,  often  in  their  own  selfish 
interests,  until  the  early  thirties.  The  reaction  started  in  the 
South,  which  profited  least  from  the  high  tariff.  Compromises 
were  introduced,  and  many  of  the  heaviest  duties  were  taken  off. 
By  the  early  forties,  when  the  movement  lapsed,  duties  had  been 
reduced  by  about  20  per  cent. 

At  this  time  the  divided  opinions  in  favour  of  raising  or  lowering 


292  THE  AMERICANS 

duties  commenced  to  play  an  important  part  in  politics.  Pro- 
tective tariff  and  tariff  reduction  were  the  watchwords  of  the  two 
parties.  In  1842  the  Protectionist  party  got  the  reins  of  govern- 
ment, and  at  once  put  heavy  duties  on  iron,  paper,  glass,  and 
cotton  and  woollen  goods.  Four  years  later,  tariffs  were  somewhat 
reduced,  owing  to  Democratic  influences;  but  the  principle  of 
protection  was  still  asserted,  as  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  tea 
and  coffee,  which  were  not  grown  in  the  country,  were  not  taxed, 
while  industrial  manufactured  articles  were  taxed  on  the  average 
30  per  cent.  The  Democrats  continued  to  assert  their  influence, 
and  won  a  victory  here  and  there.  Wool  was  admitted  free  in 
1857.  Then  came  bad  times.  After  a  severe  commercial 
crisis,  imports  decreased  and  therewith  the  customs  revenues. 
The  demand  for  high  tariff  then  increased,  and  the  Republicans 
got  control  of  Congress,  and  enacted  in  the  year  1861  the  Morrill 
Tariff,  which,  although  strongly  protective,  was  even  more  strongly 
a  Republican  party  measure.  It  aimed  to  discriminate  in  pro- 
tecting the  industries  of  those  states  which  the  Republican  party 
desired  to  win  over.  Then  came  the  Civil  War,  the  enormous 
expense  of  which  required  all  customs  and  taxes  to  be  greatly 
increased. 

The  war  tariff  of  1864  was  enacted  for  the  sake  of  revenue, 
but  its  effect  was  decidedly  protective.  And  when  the  war  was 
over,  and  tariffs  might  have  been  reduced  so  far  as  revenue  went, 
industries  were  so  accustomed  to  the  artificial  protection  that 
no  one  was  willing  to  take  off  duties.  Some  customs,  even  such 
as  those  on  woollen  and  copper,  were  considerably  increased  in 
the  next  few  years,  while  those  on  coffee  and  tea  were  again 
entirely  removed. 

In  general,  it  was  a  time  of  uncertain  fluctuations  in  the  tariff 
until  the  year  1883,  when  the  whole  matter  was  thoroughly  re- 
vised. In  certain  directions,  the  customs  were  lowered;  in  others, 
increased.  Specially  the  higher  grades  of  manufactured  articles 
were  put  under  a  higher  tariff,  while  the  cheaper  articles  used 
by  the  general  public  were  taxed  more  lightly.  A  short  time  after 
this,  President  Cleveland,  as  leader  of  the  Free-Trade  Demo- 
crats, came  out  with  a  famous  message  against  protection.  The 
unexpected  result  was,  that  after  the  tariff  question  had  thus 
once  more  been  brought  to  the  front,  the  Republicans  gained  a 


TARIFF  QUESTION  293 

complete  victory  for  their  side,  and  enacted  a  tariff  more  extreme 
than  any  which  had  gone  before,  and  which  protected  not  only 
existing  industries,  but  also  such  as  it  was  hoped  might  spring  up. 
Even  sugar  was  now  put  on  the  free  list,  because  it  had  been  taxed 
merely  for  revenue,  and  not  for  protection.  While,  on  the  other 
hand,  almost  all  manufactured  articles  which  were  made  in  the 
country  were  highly  protected.  This  was  specially  the  case  with 
velvet,  silk,  woollen,  and  metal  goods.  This  was  the  well-known 
McKinley  Tariff. 

The  Democrats  won  the  next  election,  although  not  on  the 
issue  of  industrial  legislation,  and  as  soon  as  they  came  into 
power  they  upset  the  high  tariffs.  Their  Wilson  Tariff  Bill  of 
1894,  the  result  of  long  controversies,  showed  little  internal  con- 
sistency. Too  many  compromises  had  been  found  necessary 
with  these  or  those  influential  industries  in  order  to  pass  the  bill 
at  all.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  customs  were  considerably  lowered, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  while  raw  materials,  such  as  wool, 
were  put  on  the  free  list.  But  Democratic  rule  did  not  last  long. 
McKinley  was  victorious  in  1896,  and  in  the  following  year  the 
Dingley  Tariff  was  passed  in  accordance  with  Republican  ideas  of 
protection,  and  it  is  still  in  force. 

The  total  revenues  derived  from  this  source  in  the  year  1902 
were  $251,000,000,  and  in  1903  were  $280,000,000.  Let  us 
analyze  the  first  amount.  Its  relative  importance  in  the  total 
revenue  may  be  seen  from  the  fact  that  the  internal  duties  on 
liquor,  tobacco,  etc.,  amounted  to  $271,000,000,  and  that  the 
postal  budget  for  the  year  was  $121,000,000.  The  customs 
duties  of  $251,000,000  are  officially  divided  into  five  classes. 
The  first  is  live  animals  and  breadstuffs,  with  sugar  at  the  head 
bringing  in  $52,000,000.  The  sugar  duty  had  not  existed  ten 
years  before,  but  the  Wilson  Tariff  of  1894  could  not  have  been 
enacted  if  the  beet-sugar  Senators  from  Louisiana  had  not  been 
tossed  a  bone.  In  1895  the  revenue  on  sugar  amounted  to 
$15,000,000,  and  in  1901  to  $62,000,000.  After  sugar,  in  this 
year  of  1903,  came  fruits  and  nuts  with  5,  vegetables  with  3,  meat, 
fish,  and  rice  with  only  I  million  dollars  each.  The  second  class 
comprises  raw  materials.  Wool  yielded  10.9,  skins  2. 6,  coal  I  mil- 
lion dollars,  and  every  other  class  still  less.  In  the- third  class  are 
the  semi-manufactured  products,  with  chemicals  yielding  5.4,  tin 


294.  THE  AMERICANS 

plate  2.9,  wooden-ware  1.8,  silk  i.i,  and  fur  I  million  dollars.  The 
fourth  class  comprises  finished  products.  Linen  goods  yielded  14, 
woollen  goods  13,  cotton  goods  10,  metallic  wares  6,  porcelain  5.6, 
leather  goods  3.1,  and  wooden  and  paper  wares  each  I  million 
dollars.  Articles  of  luxury  make  the  last  class,  with  tobacco 
bringing  18.7,  silk  goods  16,  laces  13,  alcoholic  drinks  10,  jewelry 
2.4,  feathers  1.4,  and  toys  1.3  million  dollars.  The  total  imports 
for  the  year  were  $903,000,000,  of  which  $396,000,000  entered 
free  of  duty;  but  of  these  last  only  10  per  cent,  were  half  or 
wholly  finished  products,  90  per  cent,  being  food  or  raw  mate- 
rials. The  duty  was  collected  from  imports  worth  $507,000,000, 
and  64  per  cent,  came  from  manufactured  articles.  Thus  the 
Dingley  Tariff  was  a  complete  victory  for  protection. 

No  one  now  asks  to  have  the  duties  raised,  but  the  Democratic 
party  is  trying  all  the  time  to  have  them  lowered,  so  that  the 
question  is  really  whether  they  shall  be  lower  or  remain  where 
they  are.  Of  course,  the  Republicans  have  a  capital  argument 
which  looks  unanswerable  —  success.  The  history  of  American 
protection,  they  say,  is  the  history  of  American  industrial  prog- 
ress. The  years  during  which  native  industry  has  been  pro- 
tected from  foreign  competition  by  means  of  heavy  duties  have 
been  the  times  of  great  development,  and  years  of  depression, 
disaster,  and  panic  have  regularly  followed  whenever  free-traders 
have  removed  duties.  The  tariff  has  never  been  higher  than 
under  the  McKinley  and  the  Dingley  bills,  and  never  has  the 
economic  advance  been  more  rapid  or  forceful.  What  is  the 
use,  they  say,  of  representing  to  the  working-man  that  he  could  buy 
a  suit  so  much  cheaper  if  the  tax  on  woollen  goods  were  removed? 
For  if  it  were,  and  free-trade  were  to  be  generally  adopted,  he 
would  go  about  without  employment,  his  wife  and  children  would 
be  turned  out  into  the  street,  and  he  would  be  unable  to  buy  even 
the  cheapest  suit.  Whereas  to-day,  he  is  well  able  to  pay  the 
price  which  is  asked.  The  wealth  of  fancy  with  which  this  sort 
of  argument  is  constantly  varied,  and  tricked  out  with  word  and 
phrase  suited  to  every  taste,  is  almost  overpowering.  But  the 
alternative  between  the  high  wage  which  can  afford  to  pay  for 
the  expensive  suit,  and  the  lower  wage  which  cannot  afford  to  pay 
for  the  cheap  suit,  becomes  still  more  cogent  since  the  fanatical 
protectionist  is  able  to  prove  that  under  a  high  tariff  wages  have 


TARIFF  QUESTION  295 

in  fact  risen,  while  the  price  of  the  suit  has  not.  Yet  the  extreme 
free-trader  can  prove,  with  equal  certainty,  that  under  free-trade 
the  suit  would  actually  be  much  cheaper,  while  wages  would  in 
the  end  be  even  higher. 

It  cannot  be  doubted  that  a  number  of  industries  are  to-day 
very  prosperous  which  could  not  have  gotten  even  a  foot-hold 
except  by  a  century  of  protection.  And  no  Democrat  denies  this. 
But  he  doubts  whether  the  hot-house  forcing  of  such  industries 
has  benefited  the  country,  and  he  believes  that  the  artificial 
perpetuation  of  great  industrial  combinations,  which  have  been 
able,  by  means  of  a  protective  tariff,  to  put  an  artificially  high 
price  on  the  food  and  other  necessary  articles  used  by  the  masses, 
has  worked  infinitely  more  harm  than  good. 

It  is  undoubtedly  true  that  many  industries  have  not  only 
been  protected,  but  have  actually  been  created.  The  tin  plate 
industry  is,  perhaps,  the  best  example  of  this.  The  United  States 
used  to  obtain  the  tin  plates  needed  in  industry  from  Wales, 
and  at  unreasonably  high  prices.  Twice  the  Americans  tried  to 
introduce  the  industry  at  home,  but  were  at  once  undersold  by 
the  English  and  "frozen  out."  Then  the  McKinley  Tariff  put  a 
duty  on  tin  plate  of  70  per  cent,  ad  valorem,  and  the  American 
industry  was  able  to  make  headway.  In  1891,  1,036  million 
pounds  of  tin  plate  were  imported,  and  none  was  produced  at 
home;  two  years  later  only  628  million  pounds  were  imported, 
and  100  million  pounds  manufactured  at  home;  and  ten  years 
later  only  117  million  pounds  came  over  the  sea,  while  894 
million  pounds  were  produced  in  this  country.  It  has  been 
much  the  same  in  the  manufacture  of  watches.  The  United 
States  imported  all  their  watches  a  few  years  ago.  They  were 
then  taxed  10  per  cent,  for  revenue,  being  accounted  articles 
of  luxury,  and  could  not  be  profitably  made  inside  the  country. 
But  when  Congress  taxed  them  25  per  cent.,  the  industry  grew 
up.  It  produced  at  first  watches  after  European  models;  but 
American  ingenuity  soon  came  to  be  extended  to  this  field,  im- 
proved machinery  for  the  manufacture  of  watches  was  devised, 
and  now  a  tremendous  industry  provides  every  American  school- 
boy with  a  watch  which  is  better  and  cheaper  than  the  corre- 
sponding European  article.  Even  the  silk  industry  may  well  be 
considered  the  foster  child  of  protection. 


296  THE  AMERICANS 

The  free-traders  reply,  that  all  this  may  have  been  very  well  for 
a  period  of  transition  from  an  agricultural  to  an  industrial  state; 
but  that  the  great  change  has  now  been  completed,  and  the 
burdensome  duties  which  keep  our  prices  high  might  perfectly 
well  be  dropped,  since  our  industries  are  now  strong  enough  to 
compete  with  foreign  industries. 

But  just  at  this  point  the  Republican  comes  out  less  optimistic- 
ally than  before.  He  says  that  American  industry  has  indeed 
developed  with  fabulous  speed,  and  that  the  industrial  exports 
of  the  country,  which  now  amount  to  30  per  cent,  of  the  total,  are 
a  great  showing,  but  this  is  a  symptom  which  ought  not  to  be 
overrated.  When  prices  throughout  the  rest  of  the  world  fell, 
and  England  was  paralyzed  for  the  moment,  although  the  do- 
mestic demand  had  not  yet  reached  its  height,  conditions  com- 
bined so  favourably,  it  is  true,  as  to  cause  the  export  trade  in  Amer- 
ican manufactured  articles  to  increase  rapidly.  But  this  may  not 
be  permanent.  Industry  is  still  not  able  to  fill  all  the  demands 
of  the  home  market;  on  the  contrary,  at  the  very  time  when  Amer- 
ican iron  and  steel  industries  seemed  likely  to  conquer  foreign 
markets,  it  was  found  that  some  sudden  increase  in  domestic 
requirements  necessitated  large  importations.  While  the  iron  and 
steel  exports  decreased  by  $25,000,000  between  1900  and  1905, 
the  imports  during  the  same  time  increased  $31,000,000,  and  iron 
and  steel  include  mostly  unfinished  products. 

Thus  even  the  strongest  and  most  powerful  industries  greatly 
need  protection  still  against  foreign  competition.  It  is,  Thomas 
Reed  has  said,  entirely  mistaken  to  look  on  protection  as  a  sort 
of  medicine,  to  be  left  ofF  as  soon  as  possible.  It  is  not  medicine, 
but  nourishment.  The  high  tariff  has  not  only  nursed  infant 
industries,  but  it  is  to  feed  them  through  life.  For  it  is  not  a 
happy  expedient,  but  a  system  which  is  justified  by  its  results, 
and  of  which  the  final  import  is  that  the  American  market  is  for 
the  American  people.  Protection  is  a  wall  behind  which  the 
American  people  can  carry  on  their  industrial  life,  and  so  arrange 
it  that  wages  shall  be  not  only  absolutely  but  relatively  greater 
than  wages  in  Europe. 

At  a  time  when  everything  looked  so  prosperous  as  in  the  last 
few  years  of  industrial  activity,  it  is  difficult  to  contest  the  power- 
ful argument  which  the  Republicans  make  in  appealing  to  success. 


TARIFF  QUESTION  297 

Every  one  is  afraid  that  a  change  in  tariff  might  turn  back  this 
tide.  And  if  there  have  been  reverses  in  the  last  few  years  it 
has  been  pointed  out  that  speculators  and  corporation  magnates 
have  been  the  chief  sufferers,  and  they  are  the  ones  who,  least  of 
all,  would  wish  the  tariffs  removed. 

It  has  been  an  unfavourable  time,  therefore,  for  the  free-traders, 
and  their  really  powerful  party  has  been  rather  faint-hearted  in 
its  fight  against  the  Dingley  Tariff.  Its  satisfaction  with  the 
Wilson  Tariff  was  not  unmixed,  and  although  it  could  truthfully 
say  that  the  law  as  actually  passed  was  not  a  Democratic  measure 
since  it  received  six  hundred  and  forty  amendments  in  the  Senate, 
nevertheless  it  realizes  that  the  legislative  measures  of  the  last 
Democratic  regime  pleased  nobody  thoroughly  and  contributed 
a  good  deal  to  the  subsequent  Republican  victory. 

Nevertheless,  the  Democrats  feel  that  the  Republican  argu- 
ments are  fallacious.  It  is  not  the  protective  tariff,  they  say, 
which  has  brought  about  American  prosperity,  but  the  natural 
wealth  of  the  country,  together  with  the  energy  and  intelligence 
of  its  inhabitants.  The  high  level  of  education,  the  free  govern- 
ment, the  pioneer  ardour  of  the  people,  and  the  blessings  of  quick 
and  rapid  railway  connections  have  made  America  great  and 
prosperous.  If,  indeed,  any  legal  expedients  have  been  decisive 
in  producing  this  happy  result,  these  have  been  the  free-trade 
measures,  since  the  Republicans  quite  overlook  the  fact  that  the 
main  factor  making  for  our  success  has  been  the  absolute  free- 
trade  prevailing  between  the  forty-five  states.  What  would  have 
become  of  American  industries  if  the  states  had  enacted  tariffs 
against  one  another,  as  the  country  does  against  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and  as  the  countries  of  Europe  do  against  one  another? 
The  entire  freedom  of  trade  from  Maine  to  California,  and  from 
Canada  to  Mexico,  that  is,  the  total  absence  of  all  legislative 
hindrances  and  the  possibility  of  free  exchange  of  natural  prod- 
ucts and  manufactures  without  payment  of  duties,  has  made 
American  industry  what  it  is;  and  it  is  the  same  idea  which  the 
Democrats  cherish  for  the  whole  world.  They  desire  to  get  for 
America  the  advantages  from  free-trade  which  England  has  de- 
rived. 

All  the  well-known  free-trade  arguments  —  moral,  political,  and 
economic  —  are  then  urged;  and  it  is  shown,  again  and  again, 


298  THE  AMERICANS 

that  every  nation  will  succeed  best  in  the  long  run  by  carrying 
on  only  such  industries  as  it  is  able  to  in  free  competition  with 
the  world.  It  is  true,  admittedly,  that  if  our  tariff  were  removed 
a  number  of  manufactures  would  have  to  be  discontinued,  and 
that  the  labourers  would  for  a  time  be  without  work,  as  happens 
whenever  a  new  machine  is  discovered,  or  whenever  means  of 
transportation  are  facilitated.  The  immediate  effect  is  to  take 
labour  from  the  workman.  But  in  a  short  time  adaptation  takes 
place,  and  in  the  end  the  new  conditions  automatically  provide  a 
much  greater  number  of  workmen  with  profitable  employment 
than  before.  America  would  lose  a  part  of  the  home  market  if  she 
adopted  free-trade,  but  would  be  able  to  open  as  many  more  doors 
to  foreign  countries  as  recompense.  Her  total  production  would 
in  the  end  be  greater,  and  all  articles  of  consumption  would  be 
cheaper,  so  that  the  workmen  could  buy  the  same  wares  with  a 
less  amount  of  labour,  and  the  adjustment  of  the  American  scale 
of  wages  would  better  enable  the  Americans  to  compete  with  the 
labour  of  other  countries. 

But  no  doubt  the  times  do  not  favour  such  logic.  The  Ameri- 
cans are  too  ready  to  believe  the  statement  of  Harrison,  that  the 
man  who  buys  a  cheaper  coat  is  the  cheaper  man.  And  quite  too 
easily  the  protectionists  reply  to  all  arguments  against  excluding 
foreign  goods  with  the  opposite  showing  that,  in  spite  of  the  high 
tariff,  the  imports  from  abroad  are  steadily  increasing.  Under 
the  Dingley  Tariff,  in  the  year  1903,  not  only  the  raw  materials, 
but  also  the  half  and  wholly  manufactured  articles,  and  arti- 
cles of  luxury,  imported  increased  to  a  degree  which  had  never 
been  reached  in  the  years  of  the  Wilson  Tariff.  The  raw  ma- 
terials imported  under  a  Democratic  tariff  reached  their  high 
point  in  1897,  with  $207,000,000;  when  the  Dingley  Tariff  was 
adopted  the  figure  decreased  to  $188,000,000,  but  then  rose 
rapidly  and  amounted  in  1902  to  $328,000,000,  and  in  1903  to 
$383,000,000.  Finished  products  declined  at  first  from  $165,- 
000,000  to  $94,000,000,  but  increased  in  1903  to  $169,000,000. 
Articles  of  luxury  sank  from  $92,000,000  to  $74,000,000,  but  then 
mounted  steadily  until  in  the  year  1903  they  were  at  the  un- 
precedented figure  of  $145,000,000. 

In  spite  of  this,  the  Democratic  outlook  is  improving ;  not 
because  people  incline  to  free-trade,  but  because  they  feel  that 


TARIFF  QUESTION  299 

the  tariff  must  be  revised,  that  certain  duties  must  be  decreased, 
and  others,  so  far  as  reciprocity  can  be  arranged  with  other 
countries,  abolished.  Everybody  sees  that  the  international  trade 
balance  of  last  year  shows  a  movement  which  cannot  keep  on. 
America  cannot,  in  the  long  run,  sell  where  she  does  not  buy. 
She  will  not  find  it  profitable  to  become  the  creditor  of  other 
nations,  and  will  feel  it  to  be  a  wiser  policy  to  close  commercial 
treaties  with  other  nations  to  the  advantage  of  both  sides.  Reci- 
procity is  not  a  theory  of  the  Democratic  party  merely,  but  is  the 
sub-conscious  wish  of  the  entire  nation,  as  may  be  concluded  from 
the  fact  that  McKinley's  last  great  speech  voiced  this  new  desire. 

He  had,  more  than  any  one  else,  a  fine  scent  for  coming  political 
tendencies;  and  his  greatness  always  consisted  in  voicing  to-day 
what  the  people  would  be  coming  to  want  by  to-morrow.  On 
the  fifth  of  September,  1901,  at  the  Buffalo  Exposition,  he  made 
a  memorable  speech,  in  which  he  said:  "We  must  not  repose 
in  fancied  security  that  we  can  forever  sell  everything  and  buy 
little  or  nothing.  If  such  a  thing  were  possible,  it  would  not  be 
best  for  us  or  for  those  with  whom  we  deal.  We  should  take  from 
our  customers  such  of  their  products  as  we  can  use  without 
harm  to  our  industries  and  labour.  Reciprocity  is  the  natural 
outgrowth  of  our  wonderful  industrial  development  under  the 
domestic  policy  now  firmly  established.  What  we  produce 
beyond  our  domestic  consumption  must  have  a  vent  abroad. 
The  excess  must  be  relieved  through  a  foreign  outlet,  and  we 
should  sell  anywhere  we  can  and  buy  wherever  the  buying  will 
enlarge  our  sales  and  productions,  and  thereby  make  a  greater 
demand  for  home  labour.  The  period  of  exclusiveness  is  past. 
The  expansion  of  our  trade  and  commerce  is  the  pressing  problem. 
Commercial  wars  are  unprofitable.  A  policy  of  good  will  and 
friendly  trade  relations  will  prevent  reprisals.  Reciprocity 
treaties  are  in  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  the  times.  Measures 
of  retaliation  are  not. 

"  If  perchance  some  of  our  tariffs  are  no  longer  needed  for 
revenue  or  to  encourage  and  protect  our  industries  at  home, 
why  should  they  not  be  employed  to  extend  and  promote  our 
markets  abroad  ? " 

This  was  the  same  McKinley  whose  name  had  been  the 
apprehension  of  Europe,  and  who  in  fact  more  than  any  one 


3oo  THE  AMERICANS 

else  was  morally  responsible  for  the  high-tariff  movement  in  the 
United  States.  The  unique  position  which  his  service  of  pro- 
tection had  won  him  in  the  party,  would  perhaps  have  enabled 
this  one  man  to  lead  the  Republican  party  down  from  its  high 
tariff  to  reciprocity.  But  McKinley  has  unhappily  passed  away, 
and  no  one  is  here  to  take  his  place. 

His  successor  has  not  had,  in  the  first  place,  a  great  interest  in 
questions  of  commerce.  He  has  necessarily  lacked,  moreover, 
such  strong  authority  within  his  party  as  would  enable  him  to 
bring  opposing  interests  into  line  on  such  a  new  policy.  The 
young  President  was  too  much  suspected  of  looking  askance  on 
great  industrial  companies.  If  he  had  placed  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  Republicans  who  were  hoping  to  reduce  the  tariff,  he 
would  have  been  branded  as  a  free-trader,  and  would  not  have 
been  credited  with  that  really  warm  feeling  for  protected  American 
industries  which  in  the  case  of  McKinley  was  taken  as  a  matter 
of  course.  More  than  that,  the  opponents  deterred  him,  and  would 
have  deterred  any  one  else  who  might  have  come  in  McKinley's  foot- 
steps, or  perhaps  even  McKinley  himself,  with  the  ghost  of  bad 
times  which  are  to  come  whenever  a  certain  feeling  of  insecurity 
is  spreading  through  the  commercial  world. 

Everybody  felt  that,  if  the  question  of  tariff  should  be  opened 
up,  unforeseen  disputes  might  ensue.  On  questions  of  tariff 
every  industry  wields  a  lever  in  its  own  favour,  and  the  Wilson 
Tariff  had  sufficiently  shown  how  long  and  how  tragico-comic 
can  be  the  course  from  the  law  proposed  to  the  law  accomplished. 
It  was  felt  everywhere  that  if  the  country  should  be  brought  into 
unrest  by  the  fact  that  no  industry  could  know  for  some  years 
what  its  future  was  to  be  or  where  Congress  might  chance  to 
take  off  protection,  that  all  industry  would  be  greatly  injured. 
There  could  be  no  new  undertakings  for  years,  and  whatever 
the  ultimate  result  might  be,  the  mere  feeling  of  uncertainty 
would  make  a  crisis  sufficient  to  turn  the  tide  of  prosperity. 
And  American  reciprocity  was  after  all  only  a  matter  of  philan- 
thropy; for  the  experience  with  Canada  and  Hawaii,  it  was  said, 
only  showed  that  reciprocity  meant  benevolence  on  the  part  of 
America. 

If  America  is  to  be  philanthropical,  there  is  enough  to  do  in 
other  ways;  but  if  America  is  to  preserve  her  commercial  interests 


TRUST  QUESTION  301 

and  her  prosperous  industries,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  not  to 
stir  up  trouble  and  push  the  country  once  more  into  tariff  dis- 
turbances and  expose  industry  to  doubts  and  misgivings.  And 
this  ghost  has  made  its  impression.  McKinley's  words  have 
aroused  only  a  faint  echo  in  the  party.  The  need,  however, 
which  he  instinctively  felt  remains,  and  public  opinion  knows 
it.  It  is  only  a  question  as  to  when  public  opinion  will  be  stronger 
than  party  opinion. 

There  is  another  thing  which  gives  the  anti-protectionists  a 
better  chance.  Democrats  say  that  high  tariff  has  favoured 
the  trusts.  This  may  be  true  or  false,  and  statistics  speak  for 
both  views.  But  here  is  a  watchword  for  the  party  which 
makes  a  deep  impression,  for  the  trusts  are  popularly  hated. 
This,  too,  may  be  right  or  wrong,  and  may  be  still  more  easily 
argued  for  both  sides,  but  the  fact  remains,  and  the  seductive 
idea  that  abolishing  high  tariff  will  deal  a  fatal  blow  to  the  hated, 
extortionate,  and  tyrannical  trusts  gets  more  hold  on  the  masses 
day  by  day.  In  vain  the  protectionists  say  that  there  is  not  a 
real  monopoly  in  the  whole  country;  that  every  instance  of  extor- 
tionate price  calls  out  competition  at  once,  and  injures  the  trust 
which  charges  such  price;  that  protection  benefits  the  small  and 
poor  companies  as  much  as  the  large,  and  that  an  attempt  to 
injure  the  large  companies  by  free-trade  enactments  would  kill 
all  small  companies  on  the  instant.  And,  besides,  politics  ought 
not  to  be  run  in  the  spirit  of  hatred.  But  the  embitterment 
exists,  and  arguments  avail  little.  It  is  incontestable  that,  of  all 
the  motives  which  are  to-day  felt  to  work  against  protection, 
the  one  most  effective  with  the  masses  is  their  hatred  of  the 
trusts.  Herewith  we  are  led  from  the  tariff  question  to  this 
other  problem  —  the  trusts. 

The  Trust  Question 

"Von  der  Parteten  Hass  und  Gunst  verwirrt" — to  be  hated 
and  to  be  favoured  by  the  parties  is  the  fate  of  the  trusts.  But 
the  odd  thing  is  that  they  are  not  hated  by  one  party  and  favoured 
by  the  other;  but  both  parties  alike  openly  profess  their  hatred 
and  yet  show  their  favour  by  refraining  after  all  from  any  action. 
And  this  inconsistency  is  not  due  to  any  intentional  deception. 

To  be  sure,  a  good  deal  of  it  is  political  policy.     The  evils  and 


3o2  THE  AMERICANS 

dangers  of  many  trust  formations  are  so  obvious  that  no  party 
would  like  to  praise  them  openly,  and  no  party  will  dispense 
with  the  cheap  and  easy  notoriety  of  declaring  itself  for  open 
competition  and  against  all  monopolies.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  power  of  the  trusts  is  so  great  that  neither  party  dares  to  break 
with  them,  and  each  has  its  special  favourites,  which  could  not  be 
offended  without  prejudicing  its  campaign  funds.  Nevertheless, 
the  deeper  reason  does  not  lie  in  the  matter  of  expediency,  but 
rather  in  the  fact  that  no  relief  has  been  proposed  which  promises 
to  be  satisfactory.  Some  want  to  treat  the  evil  superficially,  as  a 
quack  doctor  tries  to  allay  secondary  symptoms;  and  others  want, 
as  President  Roosevelt  has  said,  to  end  the  disease  by  killing  the 
patient.  The  fact  that  this  inventive  nation  has  still  not  solved 
its  great  economic  problem,  is  probably  because  the  trusts  have 
grown  necessarily  from  the  organic  conditions  of  American  life, 
and  would  continue  to  exist  in  spite  of  all  legislative  hindrances 
which  might  be  proposed  against  them. 

When  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  violation  of  the  spirit  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  law,  distributed  in  the  course  of  a  year  nearly  fifty  industrial 
monopolies,  and  caused  the  price  of  some  commodities  to  be 
doubled,  the  House  of  Commons  protested  in  1601,  and  the  Queen 
solemnly  declared  that  she  would  revoke  all  privileges  which 
endangered  industrial  freedom;  and  from  that  time  on,  monopo- 
lies were  done  away  with.  The  American  people  are  their  own 
sovereign,  and  the  effect  of  monopolies  is  now  about  the  same  as 
it  was  in  England  three  hundred  years  ago.  But  the  New  World 
sovereign  cannot  issue  a  proclamation  revoking  the  monopolies 
which  it  has  granted,  or  at  least  it  knows  that  the  monopolies,  if 
taken  from  one,  would  be  snatched  by  another.  It  is  true  that 
the  present  form  of  trusts  could  be  made  illegal  for  the  future, 
but  some  other  form  would  appear,  to  compass  the  same  ends; 
and  if  certain  economic  departments  should  be  liberated  by  a 
free-trade  legislation,  the  same  forces  would  gather  at  other 
points.  We  must  consider  the  essence  of  the  matter  rather  than 
its  outward  form. 

The  essence  is  certainly  not,  as  the  opponents  of  trusts  like  to 
represent,,  that  a  few  persons  are  enriched  at  the  expense  of  many; 
that  the  masses  are  plundered  to  heap  up  wealth  for  a  small  clique. 
The  essence  of  the  movement  does  not  lie  in  the  distribution  of 


TRUST  QUESTION  303 

wealth,  but  in  the  distribution  of  power.  The  significance  of 
the  movement  is  that  in  recent  times  the  control  of  economic 
agencies  has  had  to  become  more  strongly  concentrated.  It  is  a 
mere  attendant  circumstance  that  in  the  formation  of  the  trusts 
large  financiers  have  pocketed  disproportionately  large  profits, 
and  that  the  leading  trust  magnates  are  the  richest  men  of  the 
country.  The  significance  of  their  position  lies  in  the  confidence 
which  is  put  in  them.  But  the  actual  economic  endeavour  has 
been  for  the  organized  control  of  larger  and  larger  undertakings. 
It  has  been  very  natural  for  the  necessary  consolidation  of  smaller 
parts  into  new  and  larger  units  to  be  accomplished  by  men  who 
are  themselves  rich  enough  to  retain  a  controlling  share  in  the 
whole  business;  but  this  is  a  secondary  factor,  and  the  same  result 
could  have  been  had  if  mere  agents  had  been  appointed  by  the 
owners  to  all  the  great  positions  of  confidence. 

Almost  the  same  movement  has  gone  on  in  other  economic 
spheres  than  the  industrial.  Railroad  companies  are  all  the  time 
being  consolidated  into  large  companies,  controlled  by  fewer  and 
fewer  men,  until  finally  a  very  few,  like  Morgan,  Vanderbilt, 
Rockefeller,  Harriman,  Gould,  Hill,  and  Cassatt,  virtually  control 
the  whole  railroad  system.  But  this  economic  movement  in  the 
railroad  world  would  not  really  stop  if  the  state  were  to  take  over 
all  the  railroads,  and  a  single  badly  paid  secretary  of  railroads 
should  be  substituted  for  the  group  of  millionaires.  The  main 
point  is  that  the  savings  of  the  whole  country  are  invested  in  these 
undertakings,  and  are  looking  for  the  largest  possible  returns, 
and  get  these  only  when  leadership  and  control  are  strongly  cen- 
tralized. 

The  very  obvious  opulence  of  the  leaders  naturally  excites 
popular  criticism,  but  it  has  been  often  shown  that  the  wealth  of 
these  rich  people  has  not  increased  relatively  to  the  average 
prosperity  of  other  classes,  and  the  corporations  themselves  make 
it  possible  to  distribute  the  profits  saved  by  concentration  through- 
out the  population.  The  famous  United  States  Steel  Company 
had  last  year  69,000  stockholders,  and  the  shares  of  American 
railroads  are  owned  by  more  than  a  million  people.  For  instance, 
the  Pennsylvania  Railroad  alone  has  34,000  stock  and  bond 
holders,  who  intrust  the  control  to  a  very  few  capitalists.  In  fact, 
the  whole  railway  system  belonging  to  a  million  people  is  con 


304  THE  AMERICANS 

trolled  by  about  a  dozen  men;  and  the  Steel  Company  with  its 
69,000  owners  is  managed  by  twenty-four  directors,  who  in  turn 
are  guided  by  the  two  presidents  of  the  administration  and  finance 
committees.  The  chief  point  is  thus  not  the  concentration  of 
ownership,  but  the  concentration  of  power. 

This  same  movement  toward  concentration  has  taken  place  in 
the  banking  business;  and  here  the  point  is  certainly,  not  that  one 
man  or  a  few  men  own  a  main  share  in  the  banks,  but  only  that 
a  few  men  are  put  in  charge  of  a  group  of  financial  institutions 
for  the  sake  of  organized  management.  In  this  way  the  public 
is  more  uniformly  and  systematically  served,  and  the  banks  are 
more  secure,  by  reason  of  their  mutual  co-operation. 

Among  the  directors  of  the  Bank  of  Commerce  there  are,  for 
instance,  directors  of  two  life-insurance  companies  which  have 
a  capital  of  $750,000,000,  and  of  eight  trust  companies;  and  the 
directors  of  these  trust  companies  are  at  the  same  time  directors 
of  other  banks,  so  that  they  all  make  a  complete  chain  of  financial 
institutions.  And  they  stand  more  or  less  under  the  influence  of 
Morgan.  There  is,  likewise,  another  system  of  banks,  of  which 
the  chief  is  the  National  City  Bank,  which  is  dominated  by  Rocke- 
feller; and  these  personal  connections  between  banks  are  con- 
tinued to  the  industrial  enterprises,  and  then  on  to  the  railroad 
companies.  For  instance,  the  Rockefeller  influence  dominates  not 
only  banks  and  trust  companies  whose  capital  is  more  than 
$400,000,000,  the  famous  Standard  Oil  Company  with  a  capital 
of  $100,000,000,  the  Lackawanna  Steel  Company  worth  $60,000,- 
ooo,  and  the  gas  companies  of  New  York  worth  $147,000,000, 
but  also  the  St.  Paul  Railroad,  which  is  capitalized  at  $230,000,000, 
the  Missouri,  Kansas  and  Texas  at  $148,000,000,  and  the  Missouri 
Pacific  at  $212,000,000. 

It  is  certainly  true  that  such  tremendous  influence  under  present 
conditions  can  be  gotten  only  by  men  who  actually  own  a  huge 
capital.  And  yet  the  essential  economic  feature  is  always  the 
consolidation  of  control,  which  is  found  necessary  in  every  province 
of  industry,  and  which  entirely  overtops  the  question  of  ownership. 
It  has  been  estimated  that  the  twenty-four  directors  of  the  United 
States  Steel  Company  exert  a  controlling  influence  in  two  hundred 
other  corporations;  that  back  of  them  are  the  largest  banks  in  the 
whole  country,  about  half  the  railroads,  the  largest  coal,  oil,  and 


TRUST  QUESTION  305 

electric  companies,  and  the  leading  telegraph,  express,  and  life- 
insurance  companies,  etc.  They  control  corporations  with  a 
capital  of  nine  billions  of  dollars:  and  such  consolidation  is  not 
to  be  undone  by  any  artificial  devices  of  legislation. 

If  economic  life,  by  reason  of  the  dimensions  which  it  has 
assumed  in  the  last  decades,  requires  this  welding  together  of 
interests  in  every  department,  then  the  formation  of  syndicates 
and  trusts  is  only  a  phase  in  the  necessary  development;  and  to 
prevent  the  formation  of  trusts  would  affect  the  form,  and  not  the 
essence  of  the  movement.  Indeed,  the  form  has  already  changed  a 
number  of  times.  The  earliest  trusts  were  so  organized  that  a 
number  of  stock  companies  united  as  such  and  intrusted  their 
business  to  a  new  company,  which  was  the  "trust."  That 
system  was  successfully  abolished;  the  trust  itself  seemed  unassail- 
able, but  the  state  could  revoke  the  charters  of  the  subsidiary 
companies,  because  by  the  law  of  most  states  these  latter  might 
continue  only  so  lofig  as  they  carried  on  the  functions  named  in 
their  charters;  that  is,  so  long  as  they  carried  on  the  transaction 
of  their  affairs  themselves.  A  stock  company  has  not  the  right, 
possessed  by  an  individual,  to  intrust  its  property  to  another. 
And  if  the  stock  companies  which  came  together  into  a  trust 
were  dissolved,  the  trust  did  not  exist.  In  this  way  the  State 
of  New  York  proceeded  against  the  Sugar  Trust,  Ohio  against  the 
Standard  Oil  Company,  and  Illinois  against  the  Chicago  Gas 
Company. 

But  the  course  of  events  has  shown  that  nothing  was  gained 
by  this.  Although  it  was  recognized  that  corporations  could  not 
legally  combine  to  form  a  trust,  nevertheless  the  stockholders 
controlling  the  stock  of  separate  companies  could  join  as  in- 
dividuals and  contribute  their  personal  holdings  to  a  new  company 
which  was  virtually  a  trust;  and  in  this  form  the  trusts  which  had 
been  demolished  were  at  once  reorganized.  Moreover,  of  course 
any  number  of  stock  companies  can  simply  dissolve  and  merge 
into  one  large  company,  or  they  may  keep  their  individuality 
but  make  important  trade  agreements  with  one  another,  and  so 
indirectly  fulfil  the  purposes  of  a  trust.  In  short,  the  ways  of 
bringing  assenting  industrial  enterprises  under  one  management 
and  so  of  virtually  making  a  given  industry  into  a  monopoly, 
are  manifold. 


$o6  THE  AMERICANS 

To  promote  the  development  of  trusts,  there  was  nothing 
necessary  but  success  at  the  outset.  If  the  first  trusts  were  suc- 
cessful, the  device  would  be  imitated  so  long  as  there  was  any 
prospect  of  profit.  It  really  happened  that  this  imitation  went 
on  finally  as  a  sort  of  mania,  where  no  special  saving  of  profits 
could  be  predicted;  one  trust  followed  another,  and  the  year  1903 
saw  233  purely  industrial  trusts  incorporated,  of  which  31  had  a 
capital  of  over  $50,000,000  each,  and  of  which  the  total  capital- 
ization was  over  nine  billions. 

At  first  sight  it  might  look  as  if  this  movement  would  be  really 
sympathetic  to  the  American  people  in  general.  The  love  of 
size  generated  in  the  nation  by  the  lavishness  of  nature  must 
welcome  this  consolidation  of  interest,  and  the  strong  spirit  of 
self-initiative  claiming  the  right  of  individuals  to  unite  and  work 
together  must  surely  favour  all  sorts  of  co-operation.  As  a  fact 
now  an  opposite  tendency  operates,  which  after  all  springs  from 
the  same  spirit  of  self-initiative.  The  freely  acting  individual 
must  not  be  prevented  by  a  stronger  force  from  using  the  strength 
he  has.  Everything  which  excludes  free  competition  and  makes 
the  individual  economically  helpless  seems  immoral  to  the  Ameri- 
can. That  is  old  Anglo-Saxon  law. 

The  common  law  of  England  has  at  all  times  condemned 
agreements  which  tend  toward  monopoly,  and  this  view  dominates 
the  American  mind  with  a  force  quite  surprising  to  the  European 
who  has  become  accustomed  at  least  to  monopolies  owned  by  the 
state.  The  laws  of  almost  all  the  separate  states  declare  agree- 
ments tending  toward  a  monopoly  to  be  illegal;  and  federal  legis- 
lation, in  its  anti-trust  measures  of  1887  and  1890,  has  seconded 
this  idea  without  doing  more  than  formulating  the  national  idea 
of  justice.  The  law  of  the  country  forbids,  for  instance,  all 
agreements  looking  to  the  restriction  of  trade  between  different 
states  of  the  country  or  with  foreign  nations.  Senator  Foraker, 
in  February,  1904,  called  down  public  displeasure  by  proposing 
a  law  which  permitted  such  agreements  restricting  commerce  so 
long  as  the  restriction  was  reasonable.  It  was  feared  at  once 
that  the  courts  would  think  themselves  justified  in  excusing 
every  sort  of  restraint  and  monopolistic  hindrance.  And  yet 
there  is  no  doubt  that  the  interpretation  of  what  should  constitute 
"restriction"  to  commerce  was  quite  as  arbitrary  a  matter  as  the 


TRUST  QUESTION  30; 

interpretation  of  what  should  be  "reasonable."  Indeed,  the 
economic  consolidation  of  competing  organizations  by  no  means 
necessarily  cuts  off  the  beneficent  effects  of  competition.  When, 
for  instance,  the  Northern  Securities  Company  united  several 
parallel  railway  lines,  it  asserted  justly  that  the  several  roads 
under  their  separate  corps  of  officials  would  still  compete  for  pub- 
lic favour.  Yet  the  public  and  the  court  objected  to  the  consoli- 
dation. The  one  real  hindrance  to  the  propagation  of  trusts  lies 
in  this  general  dread  of  every  artificial  check  to  free  competition. 

Many  circumstances  which  have  favoured  the  formation  of 
trusts  are  obvious.  In  the  first  place,  the  trust  can  carry  on  busi- 
ness more  cheaply  than  the  component  companies  individually. 
The  general  administration  is  simplified  by  doing  away  with 
parallel  positions,  and  all  expenses  incident  to  business  compe- 
tition are  saved.  Then,  too,  it  can  make  larger  profits  since  when 
competition  stops,  t^e  fixing  of  prices  lies  quite  with  itself.  This 
is  of  course  not  true,  in  so  far  as  other  countries  are  able  to  com- 
pete; but  here  comes  in  the  function  of  the  protective  tariff,  which 
permits  the  trust  to  raise  its  prices  until  they  equal  those  of 
foreign  markets  plus  the  tariff. 

The  good  times  which  America  has  enjoyed  for  some  years 
have  also  favoured  the  development  of  trusts.  When  the  harvests 
are  good  and  the  factories  all  busy,  high  prices  are  readily  paid. 
The  trusts  can  do  even  better  than  single  companies  by  shutting 
down  unprofitable  plants  and  adapting  the  various  remaining 
plants  for  mutual  co-operation.  Then,  too,  their  great  resources 
enable  them  to  procure  the  best  business  intelligence.  In  addition 
to  all  this  came  a  series  of  favourable  external  circumstances. 
First  was  the  rapid  growth  of  American  capital  which  was  seek- 
ing investment.  In  the  seventies,  the  best  railroad  companies 
had  to  pay  a  rate  of  7  per  cent,  in  order  to  attract  investors;  now 
they  pay  3^  per  cent.  Capital  lies  idle  in  great  quantities  and 
accumulates  faster  than  it  can  find  investment.  This  has  neces- 
sarily put  a  premium  on  the  organization  of  new  trusts.  Then, 
too,  there  was  the  well-known  uniformity  of  the  market,  so  char- 
acteristic of  America.  The  desire  to  imitate  on  the  one  side,  and 
patience  and  good  nature  on  the  other,  give  to  this  tremendous 
region  of  consumption  extending  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific 
Ocean  a  uniformity  of  demand  which  greatly  favours  manufacture 


308  THE  AMERICANS 

on  a  gigantic  scale.  This  is  in  sharp  contrast  with  the  diversity 
of  requirements  in  Europe. 

It  has  been,  doubtless,  also  important  that  the  American  feels 
relatively  little  attached  to  his  special  business.  Just  as  he  loves 
his  Fatherland  really  as  a  conception,  as  an  ideal  system,  but 
feels  less  bound  to  the  special  piece  of  soil  where  he  was  born 
and  will  leave  his  own  farm  if  he  is  a  farmer  and  go  westward  in 
search  of  better  land,  so  the  American  passionately  loves  business 
as  a  method,  without  being  over  attached  to  his  own  particular 
firm.  If  the  opening  is  favourable,  he  gives  up  his  business 
readily  to  embark  on  another,  just  as  he  gives  up  an  old-fashioned 
machine  in  favour  of  an  improved  one. 

Just  this  quality  of  mind  is  so  different  from  the  German  that 
here  would  be  probably  the  greatest  hindrance  to  the  organi- 
zation of  trusts  in  Germany.  The  German  feels  himself  to  have 
grown  up  in  his  special  business,  which  he  may  have  inherited 
from  his  father,  just  as  the  peasant  has  grown  up  on  his  farm, 
and  he  does  not  care  to  become  the  mere  employee  of  a  large 
trust.  Another  contributory  mental  trait  has  been  the  friendly 
confidence  which  the  American  business  man  puts  in  his  neighbour. 
The  name  is  here  appropriate;  the  trusts  in  fact  repose  to  a  high 
degree  on  mutual  trust,  and  trusts  like  the  American  could  not 
develop  wherever  there  should  be  mutual  distrust  or  jealousy  in 
the  business  world.  Finally,  the  laws  themselves  have  been  favour- 
able, in  so  far  as  they  have  favoured  the  issue  of  preferred  stock 
in  a  way  very  convenient  to  trusts,  but  one  which  would  not  have 
been  approved  in  Europe.  And,  moreover,  the  trusts  have  made 
considerable  use  of  the  diversity  existing  between  the  laws  of 
different  states. 

There  have  been  retarding  factors,  too.  We  have  mentioned 
the  most  important  of  all  —  the  legal  discountenance  of  all  busi- 
ness agreements  tending  to  create  a  monopoly  or  to  restrain  trade. 
There  have  been  others,  however.  One  purpose  of  the  trusts 
is  to  put  prices  up  and  so  to  make  the  necessities  of  life  dearer. 
It  is  the  people  who  pay  the  prices  —  the  same  people  who  elect 
Congress  and  determine  the  tariffs  and  the  laws;  so  that  every 
trust  works  in  the  knowledge  that  putting  up  prices  tends  im- 
mediately to  work  back  on  business  by  calling  forth  tariff  revision 
and  anti-trust  laws. 


TRUST  QUESTION  309 

One  source  of  great  profit  to  the  trusts  has  been  the  possibility 
of  restricting  output.  This  method  promised  gain  where  natural 
products  were  in  question,  such  as  oil,  tobacco,  and  sugar,  of  which 
the  quantity  is  limited,  and  further  for  all  technical  patents. 
Where,  however,  there  is  no  such  limitation  the  most  powerful 
corporation  will  not  be  able  to  avoid  competition,  and  if  it  tries 
to  buy  up  competing  factories  to  stop  such  competition,  still  more 
are  built  at  once,  solely  with  the  purpose  of  extorting  a  high 
ransom  from  the  trusts;  and  this  game  is  ruinous.  In  other 
departments  again  consolidation  of  business  means  very  little 
economy;  Morgan's  marine  trust  is  said  not  to  have  succeeded 
for  this  reason.  In  short,  not  all  industries  are  susceptible 
of  being  organized  as  trusts,  and  the  dazzling  profits  of  certain 
favoured  trusts  too  easily  misledjthose  who  were  in  pursuit  of  for- 
tune into  forgetting  the  difference  between  different  businesses. 
Trusts  were  formed  where  they  could  not  be  profitable.  Perhaps 
the  real  founders  themselves  did  not  overlook  the  difference;  but 
they  counted  on  the  great  hungry  public  to  overlook  it,  until  at 
least  most  of  the  shares  should  have  been  disposed  of. 

As  a  fact,  however,  the  reluctance  of  the  great  investing  public 
has  been  a  decidedly  restraining  factor  too.  The  securities  spoiled 
before  the  public  had  absorbed  them;  everywhere  the  complaint 
went  up  of  undigested  securities.  The  public  came  early  to 
suspect  that  the  promoters  were  making  their  profits  not  out  of 
the  legitimate  economies  to  be  saved  by  the  trusts,  but  by  enor- 
mously overcapitalizing  them  and  taking  large  blocks  of  stock 
for  themselves. 

There  was  still  another  unfavourable  influence  on  public  opinion. 
The  main  profits  of  a  protected  trust  lie  in  its  being  able  to  sell 
more  dearly  than  it  could  if  exposed  to  foreign  competition.  But 
now  if  the  consolidated  industry  itself  proposes  to  sell  to  other 
countries,  it  must  of  course  step  down  to  the  prevailing  level  of 
prices.  It  must  therefore  sell  more  cheaply  abroad  than  at  home. 
But  this  is  soon  found  out,  and  creates  a  very  unfavourable  impres- 
sion. The  American  is  willing  to  pay  high  prices,  as  far  as  that 
goes;  but  when  he  has  to  pay  a  price  double  what  the  same  factory 
charges  for  the  same  goods  when  delivered  in  Europe,  he  finds  the 
thing  wholly  unnatural,  and  will  protest  at  the  next  election.  Thus 
there  have  been  plenty  of  factors  to  counteract  the  favourable  con- 


THE  AMERICANS 

ditions,  and  the  history  of  trusts  has  certainly  not  been  for  their 
promoters  a  simple  tale  of  easy  profits. 

Now,  if  we  do  not  ask  what  has  favoured  or  hindered  the  trusts, 
nor  how  they  have  benefited  or  jeopardized  their  founders,  but 
rather  look  about  to  see  what  their  effect  on  the  nation  has  been 
and  will  be,  some  good  features  appear  at  once.  However  much 
money  may  have  been  lost,  or  rather,  however  fictitious  values 
may  have  been  wiped  out  in  the  market,  the  great  enterprises 
are  after  all  increasing  the  productive  capacity  of  the  nation  and 
its  industrial  strength  in  the  fight  with  other  peoples.  They  give 
a  broad  scope  to  business,  and  bring  about  relations  and  mutual 
adaptations  which  would  never  have  developed  in  the  chaotic 
struggling  of  small  concerns.  They  produce  at  the  same  time 
by  the  concentration  of  control  an  inner  solidarity  which  allows  one 
part  to  function  for  another  in  case  there  are  hindrances  or  disas- 
ters to  any  part  of  the  great  organism,  and  this  is  undoubtedly  a 
tremendous  factor  for  the  general  good.  A  mischance  which, 
under  former  conditions,  would  have  been  disastrous  can  be 
survived  now  under  this  system  of  mutual  interdependence:  thus 
it  can  hardly  be  doubted  that  the  combined  action  of  the  banks 
in  the  year  1903  prevented  a  panic;  since,  when  stocks  began  to 
fall,  the  banks  were  able  to  co-operate  as  they  would  not  have  been 
able  previously  to  their  close  affiliation. 

Furthermore,  economic  wealth  can  now  be  created  more  advan- 
tageously for  the  nation.  The  saving  of  funds  which  were  for- 
merly spent  in  direct  competition  is  a  true  economy,  and  the  trusts 
have  asserted  again  and  again  that  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  do 
not  put  up  prices,  but  that  they  make  sufficient  profits  in  saving 
what  had  formerly  been  wasted  in  business  hostilities.  Certainly 
the  trusts  make  it  possible  to  isolate  useless  or  superannuated 
plants,  without  causing  a  heavy  loss  to  the  owners,  and  thus  the 
national  industry  is  even  more  freely  adaptable  to  changing 
circumstances  than  before;  and  this  advantage  accrues  to  the 
entire  country.  The  spirit  of  enterprise  is  remarkably  encouraged 
and  the  highest  premiums  are  put  on  individual  achievement. 
Almost  all  the  men  who  hold  responsible  positions  in  the  mam- 
moth works  of  the  Steel  Trust  have  worked  up,  like  Carnegie 
himself,  from  the  bottom  of  the  ladder,  and  made  their  millions 
simply  by  working  better  than  their  fellows. 


TRUST  QUESTION  311 

On  the  other  hand,  the  trusts  have  their  drawbacks.  One  of 
the  most  regrettable  to  the  American  mind  is  their  moral  effect. 
The  American  distrusts  such  extreme  concentration  of  power 
and  capital;  it  looks  toward  aristocracy,  oligarchy,  and  tyranny. 
At  the  same  time  the  masses  are  demoralized,  and  in  very  many 
cases  individual  initiative  is  strangled.  There  are,  as  it  were, 
nothing  but  officials  obeying  orders;  no  men  acting  wholly  on 
their  own  responsibility.  Work  ceases  to  be  a  pleasure,  because 
everything  goes  by  clock-work;  the  trust  supersedes  the  inde- 
pendent merchant  and  manufacturer  just  as  the  machine  has 
superseded  the  independent  artisan. 

The  trusts  have  other  demoralizing  effects.  Their  resources 
are  so  tremendous  as  in  the  end  to  do  away  with  all  opposition. 
The  independent  man  who  hop^s  to  oppose  the  great  rival,  can 
too  easily  be  put  in  a  position  in  which  he  is  made  to  choose 
between  beggary  and  the  repudiation  of  all  his  principles.  Every- 
body knows  the  shameless  history  of  the  Standard  Oil  Company, 
which  has  strangled  not  merely  weak  proprietors,  but,  much  more, 
has  strangled  strong  consciences.  Then,  too,  the  whole  system  of 
over-capitalization  is  immoral.  Large  trusts  can  hardly  be 
formed  except  by  purchasing  the  subsidiary  companies  at  fancy 
prices,  and  issuing  stock  which  in  large  part  represents  the  pre- 
mium paid  to  the  promoters.  Indeed,  this  whole  system  of  com- 
munity of  interests  which  puts  thousands  of  corporations  into 
the  hands  of  a  few  men  who  everywhere  play  into  one  another's 
hands,  must  bring  it  about  that  these  men  will  soon  grow  care- 
less and  overlook  one  another's  irregularities  in  a  way  which 
will  threaten  sober  business  traditions.  The  whole  country  was 
shocked  on  hearing  the  revelations  of  the  Shipbuilding  Trust, 
and  seeing  with  what  criminal  carelessness  the  organization  went 
on  in  a  little  group  of  friends,  and  how  the  methods  of  poker- 
playing  were  applied  to  transactions  of  great  moment.  The 
fundamental  objection,  however,  is  always  that  it  is  immoral  to 
kill  competition  by  agreements  which  create  a  monopoly. 

Now,  what  can  be  done  to  obviate  these  evils  ?  Apparently 
the  first  thing  would  be  a  revision  of  the  tariff;  and  yet  even  their 
opponents  must  agree  that  there  is  only  an  indirect  relation 
between  the  protective  tariff  and  the  trusts.  It  is  true  that  the 
high  tariffs  have  helped  to  create  those  industries  which  have  now 


3i2  THE  AMERICANS 

come  together  in  trusts,  and  if  the  industries  were  to  be  wiped  out, 
of  course  there  would  be  nothing  left  of  consolidations.  But  it 
is  surely  not  true  that  the  trusts  are  the  immediate  effect  of  the 
tariff,  and  the  more  a  revised  tariff  were  to  let  in  foreign  com- 
petition so  much  the  more  would  the  national  industries  need  to 
form  themselves  into  trusts  for  the  sake  of  the  benefits  of  con- 
solidated management.  All  the  business  advantages  and  all 
the  moral  evils  of  trusts  would  still  remain,  even  though  the 
dividends  were  to  sink.  And  the  trusts  would  not  be  carried  off 
the  field  unless  American  industry  itself  should  utterly  succumb 
to  the  foreign  enemy. 

Most  of  all,  however,  it  seems  clear  that  any  policy  prejudicial 
to  the  conditions  of  production  and  distribution  would  first  of  all, 
and  most  sadly,  hit  the  competitors  of  the  trusts.  There  is  no 
absolute  monopoly  in  any  American  industry.  Indeed,  even  the 
Sugar  Refining  Company  has  a  few  outside  competitors,  and 
there  is  a  legion  of  independent  producers  outside  of  the  Steel 
Trust  who  are  themselves  in  part  organized  in  groups,  and  in 
many  industries  the  trusts  do  not  comprise  even  half  of  the  manu- 
facturers. Now,  if  the  high  tariff  wall  should  be  torn  down  so 
that  a  flood  of  cheap  foreign  manufactures  could  come  in,  it  is 
certain  that  the  first  sufferers  would  be  the  small  independent 
companies,  which  would  be  drowned  out,  while  the  mighty  trusts 
would  swim  for  a  long  time.  Indeed,  the  destruction  of  such 
home  competition  would  greatly  benefit  the  trusts.  Some  of 
the  strongest  of  these  would  hardly  be  reached  at  all  by  a  reduction 
of  the  tariff —  as,  for  instance,  the  strongest  of  them,  the  Petroleum 
Trust,  which  does  not  enjoy  any  protection.  And  it  is  also  to  be 
asked  if  trusts  do  not  prosper  in  free-trade  England  ?  So  soon  as 
the  water  is  squeezed  out  of  their  stocks,  as  has  in  good  part  lately 
happened,  the  trusts  would  still  have  a  great  advantage  after 
protective  duties  should  be  abolished.  And  at  the  same  time  the 
necessary  depression  of  wages  which  would  result  from  that 
movement  would  endanger  the  whole  industrial  fabric.  More- 
over, the  social  and  moral  evils  of  the  trusts  would  persist. 
Therefore  the  Republican  party,  which  is  just  now  in  power,  will 
take  no  part  in  solving  the  trust  question  by  reducing  the  tariff. 

Those  Republicans  who  oppose  the  trusts  are  much  more  in- 
clined to  proceed  to  federal  legislation.  President  Roosevelt  has, 


TRUST  QUESTION  313 

in  a  number  of  speeches  which  are  among  the  most  significant 
contributions  to  the  whole  discussion,  pointed  to  this  way  again 
and  again.  The  situation  is  complicated  and  has  shifted  from 
time  to  time.  The  real  difficulty  lies  in  the  double  system  of 
legislative  power  which  we  have  already  explicitly  described. 
We  have  seen  that  all  legislative  power  which  is  not  expressly 
conferred  on  the  Union  belongs  to  the  several  states;  specially  has 
each  state  the  right  to  regulate  the  commercial  companies  to  which 
it  has  given  charters.  But  if  the  company  is  such  a  one  as  operates 
between  several  states  —  as,  for  instance,  one  which  transports 
goods  from  one  state  to  another  —  it  is  regulated  by  federal 
law.  Now,  as  long  ago  as  the  year  1890,  in  the  so-called  Sherman 
Act,  Congress  passed  draconic  regulations  against  interstate 
trusts.  The  law  threatens  with  fine  and  imprisonment  any 
party  to  a  contract  which  restricts  interstate  commerce.  It  can 
be  said  of  this  law  that  it  entirely  did  away  with  the  trusts  in  their 
original  form,  in  which  the  various  companies  themselves  com- 
posed the  trust.  At  the  same  time  the  federal  officials  were 
strongly  seconded  by  the  judicial  doings  of  the  separate  states, 
as  we  have  already  seen.  But  the  effect  has  only  been  to  drive 
industry  into  new  forms,  and  forms  which  are  not  amenable  to 
federal  regulations,  but  fall  under  the  jurisdiction  of  the  separate 
states.  Corporations  were  formed  which  have  their  home  in  a 
certain  state,  but  which  by  the  tremendous  capital  of  their  members 
have  been  able  to  acquire  factories  distributed  all  through  the 
country.  Indeed,  they  are  not  real  trusts  any  more,  and  the  name 
is  kept  up  only  because  the  new  corporations  have  descended 
from  trusts  and  accomplish  the  same  purpose. 

Of  course,  this  change  would  have  been  of  no  advantage  for  the 
several  companies  if  the  stern  spirit  shown  by  Congress  in  this 
legislation  had  been  manifested  once  more  by  the  separate  states, 
that  is,  if  each  separate  state  had  forbidden  what  the  Union  had 
forbidden;  but  so  long  as  a  single  state  in  the  whole  forty-five 
permitted  greater  freedom  to  business  than  the  others,  of  course 
all  new  companies  would  be  careful  to  seek  out  that  state  and 
settle  there.  And,  what  was  more  important,  would  there  pay 
taxes  —  a  fact  which  tended  to  persuade  every  state  to  enact 
convenient  trust  laws. 

Now,  it  is  not  a  question  between  one  state  and  forty-four 


314  THE,  AMERICANS 

others,  but  rather  between  the  diversities  of  all  the  forty-five. 
Almost  every  state  has  its  peculiar  provisions,  and  if  its  laws  are 
favourable  to  the  trusts  this  is  because,  as  each  state  says,  if 
it  were  to  stand  on  high  moral  grounds  it  would  only  hurt 
itself  by  driving  away  profitable  trusts,  and  would  not  benefit 
the  whole  country,  because  the  trusts  would  simply  fly  away  and 
roost  in  some  other  state.  More  especially  the  industrially  back- 
ward Western  States  would  be  always  ready  to  entertain  the  trusts 
and  pass  most  hospitable  laws,  for  the  sake  of  the  revenue  which 
they  could  thereby  get  for  their  local  purposes.  And  so  it  is 
quite  hopeless  to  expect  the  trusts  to  be  uprooted  by  the  legis- 
lation of  the  separate  states.  If  all  forty-five  states  were  to  pass 
laws  such  as  govern  stock  companies  in  Massachusetts,  there 
would  be  no  need  of  further  legislation;  and  it  is  also  no  accident, 
of  course,  that  there  are  very  few  trusts  in  the  State  of  New  York. 
All  the  great  trusts  whose  directors  reside  in  the  metropolis  have 
their  official  home  across  the  river  in  the  State  of  New  Jersey, 
which  has  made  great  concessions  to  the  companies. 

If  these  companies  are  to  be  reached  by  law,  the  surest  way 
seems  to  be  by  taking  a  radical  step  and  removing  the  supervision 
of  large  stock  companies  from  the  single  states,  and  transferring 
it  to  the  federal  government;  this  is  the  way  which  President 
Roosevelt  has  repeatedly  recommended.  In  our  political  section 
we  have  explicitly  shown  that  such  a  change  cannot  be  introduced 
by  an  act  of  Congress,  but  only  by  an  amendment  to  the  Consti- 
tution, which  cannot  be  made  by  Congress,  since  it  is  in  itself  a 
product  of  the  Constitution.  Congress  would  be  able  only  to 
take  the  initiative,  and  two-thirds  of  both  houses  would  have  to 
support  the  proposition  to  change  the  Constitution;  and  this 
change  would  have  to  be  ratified  by  three-fourths  of  the  state 
legislatures  themselves.  Now,  it  would  be  difficult  to  get  a  two- 
thirds  majority  in  both  houses  on  any  question  hostile  to  trusts; 
but  it  is  quite  out  of  the  question  to  induce  the  three-fourths  of 
the  states  to  cripple  their  own  rights  in  so  important  a  matter 
as  the  regulation  of  stock  companies;  particularly  as  in  economic 
matters  local  power  is  necessary  to  local  optimism,  and  the  weaker 
states  would  never  consent  to  give  up  such  rights,  since  they  would 
be  forced  to  see  industrial  laws  framed  according  to  the  require- 
ments of  the  more  highly  developed  states.  Was  the  President, 


TRUST  QUESTION  315 

then,  in  his  speeches,  like  Don  Quixote,  tilting  against  the  wind- 
mills; or  was  he  proposing,  as  some  of  his  opponents  said,  quite 
impracticable  solutions  in  order  to  divert  attention  from  such 
a  handy  solution  as  that  of  tariff  reduction  ?  And  was  he  declaim- 
ing loudly  against  the  trusts  before  the  public  in  order  really  to 
help  on  the  friends  of  capital  ? 

Perhaps  another  point  of  view  may  be  found.  It  may  be  that 
President  Roosevelt  proposed  a  constitutional  amendment  in 
order  to  arouse  discussion  along  certain  lines,  and  in  order  specially 
to  have  the  chance  of  demonstrating  that  federal  control  of  those 
overgrown  business  enterprises  is  necessary,  and  that  their  con- 
trol by  the  several  states  is  dangerous.  It  looks  indeed  as  if 
such  discussion  would  have  been  highly  superfluous  if  not  in- 
sincere, if  it  were  true  that  tl/ie  sole  way  of  helping  the  situation 
were  the  quite  impossible  constitutional  amendment. 

But  such  is  not  the  case;  there  is  another  way  of  reaching  the 
same  end  without  meeting  the  difficulties  involved  in  changing 
the  Constitution.  Of  course,  the  President  was  not  free  to  discuss 
this  means,  nor  even  to  mention  it.  This  way  is,  we  think,  for 
the  Supreme  Court  to  reverse  its  former  decision,  and  to  modify 
its  definition  of  interstate  commerce  in  closer  accord  with  the  latest 
developments  of  the  trusts.  We  have  seen  that  there  are  drastic 
laws  relating  to  interstate  commerce  which  have  overthrown  all 
the  earlier  trusts;  but  a  corporation  claiming  home  in  New  Jersey, 
although  owning  factories  in  different  states  and  dependent  on 
the  co-operation  of  several  states  for  its  output,  is  to-day  treated 
by  the  Supreme  Court  as  a  corporation  pertaining  to  one  state. 
If,  now,  the  Supreme  Court  were  to  decide  that  such  a  corporation 
transacts  interstate  commerce,  then  all  the  severity  of  the  existing 
federal  laws  would  apply  to  such  corporations,  and  everything 
which  could  be  accomplished  by  an  amendment  to  the  Consti- 
tution would  be  effected  by  that  one  decision.  Of  course,  the 
President  could  not  suggest  this,  since  the  Supreme  Court  is  co- 
ordinate with  the  Executive;  yet  if  public  attention  should  be 
awakened  by  such  a  discussion,  even  the  judges  of  the  Supreme 
Court  might  consider  the  matter  in  a  new  light. 

To  be  sure,  this  would  at  the  same  time  require  the  Supreme 
Court  somewhat  to  modify  its  previous  interpretation  of  the  Anti- 
Trust  Law  itself,  and  not  merely  its  application;  since  otherwise,  if 


3i6  THE  AMERICANS 

the  trusts  come  under  federal  jurisdiction,  the  law  might  wipe  out 
the  new  trusts,  as  it  did  the  old,  instead  merely  of  regulating  them. 
In  view  of  the  recently  published  memoirs  of  Senator  Hoar,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  the  Supreme  Court  has  interpreted  the  law 
forbidding  the  restraint  of  trade  more  strictly  than  was  originally 
intended  in  the  bill  which  Hoar  himself  drew  up.  Congress 
meant  to  refer  to  agreements  in  restraint  of  trade  in  a  narrow, 
technical  sense,  while  the  court  has  interpreted  this  law  as  if  it 
were  to  apply  to  every  agreement  which  merely  regulates  pro- 
duction or  sale  in  any  place.  But  this  unnecessarily  severe  con- 
struction of  the  law  by  the  unexpected  verdict  of  the  court  can 
of  course  be  set  aside  by  a  further  Congressional  measure,  and 
therefore  offers  no  difficulty. 

The  Administration  might  proceed  in  still  another  way.  A 
good  deal  has  been  said  of  greater  publicity  in  public  affairs,  and 
in  the  last  few  years  energetic  measures  have  already  been  taken 
at  the  instance  of  the  President.  Many  of  the  evils  of  trusts  lie 
in  their  concealment  of  the  conditions  under  which  they  have  been 
organized;  and  the  new  Department  of  Commerce  is  empowered 
to  take  official  testimony  concerning  all  such  matters,  and  to 
demand  this  under  oath.  Whether  this  will  be  an  ultimate  gain 
is  doubted  by  many,  since  those  acquainted  with  the  matter  say 
that  the  secrets  of  modern  book-keeping  make  it  impossible  to 
inspect  the  general  condition  of  a  large  industrial  concern  when 
its  promoters  desire  to  conceal  the  truth.  WHile  if  one  were  to 
go  back  of  the  books  and  lay  bare  every  individual  fact  to  the 
public  eye,  the  corporations  would  be  considerably  injured  in 
their  legitimate  business.  And  in  any  case,  this  new  effort  at 
publicity  has  so  far  no  judicial  sanction.  One  large  trust  has 
already  refused  to  give  the  information  desired  because  its  counsel 
holds  the  Congressional  law  to  be  unconstitutional,  and  this 
matter  will  have  to  be  settled  by  the  Supreme  Court. 

The  most  thoughtful  minds  are  coming  slowly  to  the  opinion 
that  neither  tariff  provisions  nor  legislation  is  necessary,  but  that 
the  matter  will  eventually  regulate  itself.  The  great  collapse  of 
market  values  has  opened  the  eyes  of  many  people,  and  the  fall 
in  the  price  of  commodities  manufactured  by  trusts  works  in 
much  the  same  direction.  People  see,  more  and  more,  that  most 
of  the  evils  are  merely  such  troubles  as  all  infant  organisms  pass 


TRUST  QUESTION  317 

through.  The  railroads  of  the  country  were  also  at  first  enor- 
mously overcapitalized,  but  the  trouble  has  cured  itself  in  the 
course  of  time.  The  surpluses  have  been  spent  on  improvements, 
and  railroad  shares  to-day  represent  actual  values.  Such  a  change 
has  in  fact  already  set  in  among  the  trusts.  Paternal  regulation 
by  the  government,  which  prescribes  how  industry  shall  go  on,  is 
always  essentially  distasteful  to  Americans.  Exact  regulative 
measures  which  shall  be  just  cannot  be  framed  beforehand  by 
any  government.  Even  Adam  Smith  believed,  for  instance,  that 
the  form  of  organization  known  as  a  stock  company  was  suitable 
for  only  a  few  kinds  of  business.  The  American  prefers  to  sub- 
mit all  such  questions  to  the  actual  business  test.  All  experiment- 
al undertakings  are  sifted  by  natural  selection,  and  the  undesir- 
able and  unnecessary  ones  fall  through.  It  is  true  that  many  lose 
their  property  in  such  experiments,  but  that  is  only  a  wholesome 
warning  against  thoughtless  undertakings  and  against  hasty  belief 
that  the  methods  profitable  in  one  field  must  be  profitable  in 
every  other.  It  is  true  that  here  and  there  a  man  will  make  large 
profits  rather  too  easily,  but  Roosevelt  has  well  said  that  it  is 
better  that  a  few  people  become  too  rich  than  that  none  prosper. 

The  development  of  affairs  shows  most  of  all  that  prices  can 
be  inflated  for  a  short  time,  but  that  they  slowly  come  back  to  a 
reasonable  figure  so  long  as  there  are  no  real  monopolies.  The 
experience  of  the  last  ten  years  teaches,  moreover,  that  the  most 
important  factor  which  works  against  the  trusts  is  the  desire  for 
independence  on  the  part  of  capitalists,  who  do  not  for  a  long 
time  willingly  subordinate  themselves  to  any  corporation,  but  are 
always  tempted  to  break  away  and  start  once  more  an  independ- 
ent concern. 

And  comparing  the  situation  in  1904  with  that  of  1900,  one  sees 
that  in  spite  of  the  seeming  growth  of  the  trust  idea,  the  trusts 
themselves  have  become  more  solid  by  the  squeezing  out  of 
fictitious  valuations;  they  are  more  modest,  content  themselves 
with  less  profits,  and  they  are  much  less  dangerous  because  of 
the  competition  which  has  grown  up  around  them.  The  trusts 
which  originally  ruled  some  whole  industry  through  the  country 
are  to-day  satisfied  if  they  control  two-thirds  of  it.  A  single 
fundamental  thought  remains  firm,  that  the  development  of 
industry  demands  a  centralized  control.  This  idea  works  itself 


3i8  THE  AMERICANS 

out  more  and  more,  and  would  remain  in  spite  of  any  artificial 
obstruction  which  might  be  put  before  it.  But  the  opposite 
tendencies  are  too  deeply  rooted  in  human  nature,  in  Anglo- 
Saxon  law,  and  in  the  American's  desire  for  self-initiative,  to  let 
this  centralization  go  to  dangerous  limits. 

But  those  who  will  not  believe  that  the  trusts,  with  their  enor- 
mous capitals,  can  be  adequately  restrained  in  this  way,  may 
easily  content  themselves  with  that  factor  which,  as  the  last  few 
years  have  shown,  speaks  more  energetically  than  could  Congress 
itself — this  is  organized  labour.  The  question  of  capital  in 
American  economy  is  regulated  finally  by  the  question  of  labour. 

The  Labour  Question 

As  the  negro  question  is  the  most  important  problem  of  in- 
ternal politics,  so  the  labour  question  is  the  most  important 
in  American  economic  life;  and  one  who  has  watched  the 
great  strikes  of  recent  years,  the  tremendous  losses  due  to  the 
conflicts  between  capital  and  labour,  may  well  believe  that,  like 
the  negro  question,  this  is  a  problem  which  is  far  from  being 
solved.  Yet  this  may  not  be  the  case.  With  the  negro  pessimism 
is  justified,  because  the  difficulties  are  not  only  unsolved,  but 
seem  unsolvable.  The  labour  question,  however,  has  reached  a 
point  in  which  a  real  organic  solution  is  no  longer  impossible. 
Of  course,  prophecies  are  dangerous;  and  yet  it  looks  as  if,  in 
spite  of  hard  words,  the  United  States  have  come  to  a  condition 
in  which  labourers  and  capitalists  are  pretty  well  satisfied,  and 
more  so  perhaps  than  in  any  other  large  industrial  nation.  It 
might  be  more  exact  to  say  that  the  Americans  are  nearer -the 
ideal  condition  for  the  American  capitalist  and  the  American 
labourer,  since  the  same  question  in  other  countries  may  need  to 
be  solved  on  wholly  different  lines. 

In  fact,  the  American  problem  cannot  be  looked  into  without 
carefully  scrutinizing  how  far  the  factors  are  peculiar  to  this 
nation.  Merely  because  certain  general  factors  are  common  to 
the  whole  industrial  world,  such  as  capital,  machinery,  land 
values,  labour,  markets,  and  profits,  the  social  politician  is  inclined 
to  leave  out  of  account  the  specific  form  which  the  problem  takes 
on  in  each  country.  The  differences  are  chiefly  of  temperament, 
of  opinions,  and  of  mode  of  life. 


LABOUR  QUESTION  3i9 

It  is,  indeed,  a  psychological  factor  which  makes  the  American 
labour  question  very  different  from  the  German  problem.  This 
fact  is  neglected,  time  after  time,  in  the  discussions  of  German 
theorists  and  business  men.  It  is,  for  instance,  almost  invariably 
affirmed  in  Germany  that  the  American  government  has  done 
almost  nothing  toward  insuring  the  labourer  against  illness,  ac- 
cident, or  old  age,  and  that  therefore  America  is  in  this  respect 
far  inferior  to  Germany.  It  can  easily  be  foreseen,  they  say,  that 
American  manufacturers  will  be  considerably  impeded  in  the 
world's  market  as  soon  as  the  progress  of  civilization  forces 
them  to  yield  this  to  the  working-man. 

The  fact  is  that  such  an  opprobrium  betrays  a  lack  of  under- 
standing of  American  charactey.  The  satisfaction  felt  in  Ger- 
many with  the  laws  for  working-men's  insurance  is  fully  justified; 
for  they  are  doubtless  excellent  under  German  conditions,  but 
they  might  not  seem  so  satisfactory  to  the  average  American  nor 
to  the  average  American  labourer.  He  looks  on  it  as  an  interest- 
ing economic  experiment,  admirable  for  the  ill-paid  German 
working-man,  but  wholly  undesirable  for  the  American.  The 
accusation  that  the  American  government  fails  in  its  duty  by 
not  providing  for  those  who  have  served  the  community,  is  the 
more  unjust,  since  America  expends  on  the  average  $140,000,000 
in  pensions  for  invalid  veterans  and  their  widows,  and  is  equally 
generous  wherever  public  opinion  sees  good  cause  for  generosity. 

It  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  American  labourer  is  a  different 
sort  of  creature  from  the  Continental  labourer;  his  material  sur- 
roundings are  different,  and  his  way  of  life,  his  dwelling,  clothes 
and  food,  his  intellectual  nourishment  and  his  pleasures,  would 
seem  to  the  European  workmen  like  luxuries.  The  number  of 
industrial  labourers  in  the  year  1880  was  2.7  million,  and  they 
earned  $947,000,000;  in  1890  it  was  4.2  million  earning  $1,891,- 
000,000;  and  in  1900  there  were  5.3  million  labourers  earning 
$2,320,000,000;  therefore,  at  the  time  of  the  last  census,  the 
average  annual  wage  was  $437.  This  average  figure,  however, 
includes  men,  women,  and  children.  The  average  pay  of  grown 
men  alone  amounts  to  $500.  This  figure  gives  to  the  German  no 
clear  idea  of  the  relative  prosperity  of  the  working-man  without 
some  idea  of  the  relation  between  German  and  American  prices. 

One  reads  often  that  everything  is  twice  as  expensive  in  America 


32o  THE  AMERICANS 

as  in  Germany,  while  some  say  that  the  American  dollar  is  worth 
only  as  much  as  the  German  mark — that  is,  that  the  American 
prices  are  four  times  the  German;  and  still  others  say  that  Ameri- 
can prices  are  not  a  bit  higher  than  German.  The  large  German- 
American  steamships  buy  all  their  provisions  of  meat  in  New 
York  rather  than  in  Hamburg  or  Bremen,  because  the  American 
prices  are  less.  If  one  consults,  on  the  other  hand,  a  doctor  or 
lawyer  in  New  York,  or  employs  a  barber  or  any  one  else  for  his 
personal  services,  he  will  find  it  a  fact  that  the  American  price  is 
four  times  as  high  as  the  German.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
articles  of  luxury;  for  bouquets  and  theatre  tickets  the  dollar 
is  equal  to  the  mark.  It  is  the  same  with  household  service  in 
a  large  town;  an  ordinary  cook  receives  five  dollars  per  week, 
and  the  pay  of  better  ones  increases  as  the  square  of  their  abilities. 
Thus  we  see  at  once  that  an  actual  comparison  of  prices  between 
the  United  States  and  Europe  cannot  be  made.  A  dollar  buys 
five  marks'  worth  of  roast  beef  and  one  mark's  worth  of  roses. 

In  general,  it  can  be  said  that  the  American  is  better  off  as 
regards  all  articles  which  can  be  made  in  large  quantities,  and 
worse  off  in  articles  of  luxury  and  matters  of  personal  service. 
The  ready-made  suit  of  clothes  is  no  dearer  in  America  than  in 
Germany  and  probably  better  for  the  price,  while  the  custom- 
made  suit  of  a  first-class  tailor  costs  about  four  times  what  it 
would  cost  in  Germany.  All  in  all,  we  might  say  that  an  American 
who  lives  in  great  style  and  spends  $50,000  a  year  can  get  no 
greater  material  comforts  than  the  man  in  Germany  who  spends 
a  third  as  much  —  that  is,  70,000  marks.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
man  who  keeps  house  with  servants,  but  without  luxuries,  spend- 
ing, say,  $5,000  a  year,  lives  about  like  a  man  in  Germany  who 
spends  10,000  marks  —  that  is,  about  half  as  much.  But  any 
one  who,  like  the  average  labourer,  spends  $500  in  America,  un- 
questionably gets  quite  as  much  as  he  would  get  with  the  equal 
amount  of  2,100  marks  in  Germany. 

But  the  more  skilled  artisan  gets  $900  on  the  average  —  that 
is,  about  three  times  as  much  as  the  German  skilled  workman;  so 
that,  compared  with  the  wages  of  higher-paid  classes,  the  working- 
men  are  paid  relatively  much  more  than  in  Europe.  The  average 
labourer  lives  on  the  same  plane  as  the  German  master  artisan;  and 
if  he  is  dissatisfied  with  the  furnishings  of  his  home  it  is  not  because 


LABOUR  QUESTION  321 

he  needs  more  chairs  and  tables,  but  because  he  has  a  fancy  for 
a  new  carpet  or  a  new  bath-tub.  In  this  connection  we  are 
speaking  always  of  course  of  the  real  American,  not  the  recent 
immigrants  from  Southern  and  Eastern  Europe,  who  are  herded 
together  in  the  worst  parts  of  large  cities,  and  who  sell  their  labour 
at  the  lowest  rate.  The  native  American  labourer  and  the  better 
class  of  German  and  Irish  immigrants  are  well  clothed  and  fed 
and  read  the  newspapers,  and  only  a  small  part  of  their  wages 
goes  for  liquor. 

More  important  than  the  economic  prosperity  of  the  American 
working-man,  though  not  wholly  independent  of  it,  is  the  social 
self-respect  which  he  enjoys.  The /American  working-man  feels 
himself  to  be  quite  the  equal  of  any  other  citizen,  and  this  not 
merely  in  the  legal  sense.  This  results  chiefly  from  the  intense 
political  life  of  the  country  and  the  democratic  form  of  govern- 
ment, which  knows  no  social  prerogatives.  It  results  also  from 
the  absence  of  social  caste.  There  is  a  considerable  class  feeling, 
but  no  artificial  lines  which  hinder  any  man  from  working  up 
into  any  position.  The  most  modest  labourer  knows  that  he  may, 
if  he  is  able,  work  up  to  a  distinguished  position  in  the  social 
structure  of  the  nation. 

And  the  most  important  thing  of  all  is  probably  the  high  value 
put  on  industry  as  such.  We  have  spoken  of  this  in  depicting  the 
spirit  of  self-initiative.  In  fact,  the  back-ground  of  national  con- 
ceptions as  to  the  worth  of  labour  must  be  the  chief  factor  in  deter- 
mining the  social  condition  of  the  working-man.  When  a  nation 
comes  to  that  way  of  thinking  which  makes  intellectual  activities 
the  whole  of  its  culture,  while  economic  life  merely  serves  the 
function  of  securing  the  outward  comforts  of  the  nation  as 
it  stretches  on  toward  its  goal  of  culture,  then  the  industrial 
classes  must  content  themselves  with  an  inferior  position,  and 
those  who  do  bodily  labour,  with  the  least  possible  amount  of 
personal  consideration.  But  when  a  nation,  on  the  other  hand, 
believes  in  the  intrinsic  worth  of  industrial  culture,  then  the  labour 
by  which  a  man  lives  becomes  a  measure  of  his  moral  worth, 
and  even  intellectual  effort  finds  its  immediate  ethical  justification 
only  in  ministering  to  the  complex  social  life;  that  is,  only  so  far 
as  it  is  industry. 

Such   now  is   the  conception  of  the  American.     Whether  a 


THE  AMERICANS 

person  makes  laws,  or  poetry,  or  railway  ties,  or  shoes,  or  darning- 
needles,  the  thing  which  gives  moral  value  to  his  life's  work  is 
merely  its  general  usefulness.  In  spite  of  all  intellectual  and 
aesthetic  differences,  this  most  important  element  of  activity  is 
common  to  all,  and  the  manual  labourer,  so  far  as  he  is  industrious, 
is  equal  to  those  who  work  with  their  brains.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  social  parasite,  who  perhaps  has  inherited  money  and 
uses  it  only  for  enjoyment,  is  generally  felt  to  be  on  a  lower  plane 
than  the  factory  hand  who  does  his  duty.  For  the  American  this 
is  not  an  artificial  principle,  but  an  instinctive  feeling,  which  may 
not  do  away  with  all  the  thousand  different  shadings  of  social 
position,  but  nevertheless  consigns  them  to  a  secondary  place. 
One  may  disapprove  of  such  an  industrial  conception  of  society, 
and  like  better,  for  example,  the  aesthetic  conception  of  the 
Japanese,  who  teach  their  youth  to  despise  mercantile  busi- 
ness and  tastefully  to  arrange  flowers.  But  it  is  clear  that  where 
such  an  industrial  conception  prevails  in  a  nation  the  working- 
man  will  feel  a  greater  self-respect  and  greater  independence  of 
his  surroundings,  since  the  millionaire  is  also  then  only  a  fellow- 
workman. 

Undoubtedly  just  this  self-respect  of  the  American  labourer 
makes  him  the  great  industrial  force  which  he  is.  The  American 
manufacturer  pays  higher  wages  than  any  of  his  competitors  in 
the  markets  of  the  world  and  is  not  disconcerted  at  this  load, 
because  he  knows  that  the  self-respecting  working-man  equalizes 
the  difference  of  price  by  more  intense  and  intelligent  labour.  It 
is  true  that  the  perfection  of  labour-saving  machinery  is  a  tremen- 
dous advantage  here,  but  after  all  it  is  the  personal  quality  of  the 
working-man  which  has  brought  about  that  in  so  many  industries 
ten  American  workmen  do  more  than  fifteen  or,  as  experts  often 
say,  twenty  Italian  workmen.  The  American  manufacturer 
prefers  to  hire  a  hundred  heads  rather  than  a  thousand  hands, 
even  if  the  wages  are  equal,  and  even  the  greedy  capitalist  prefers 
the  labourer  who  is  worth  thirty  dollars  a  week  to  one  who  is  worth 
only  twenty.  The  more  the  working-man  feels  himself  to  be  a 
free  co-operator,  the  more  intelligently  does  he  address  himself 
to  the  work.  We  hear  constantly  of  improvements  which  artisans 
have  thought  out,  and  this  independent  initiative  of  theirs  does 
not  in  the  least  impair  the  discipline  of  industry.  American 


LABOUR  QUESTION  323 

discipline  does  not  mean  inferiority  and  the  giving  up  of  one's 
own  judgment,  but  is  a  free  willingness  to  co-operate  and,  for  the 
common  end,  to  intrust  the  leadership  to  some  one  else.  This 
other  person  is  exalted  to  the  trustworthy  position  of  leader  by  the 
desire  of  those  concerned,  so  that  each  man  is  carrying  out  his 
own  will  in  obeying  the  foreman. 

Therefore,  everything  which  in  any  wise  savours  of  compassion 
is  entirely  out  of  the  question  for  him.  In  fact,  the  friendly  be- 
nevolence, however  graciously  expressed,  intended  to  remind  the 
workman  that  he  is  after  all  a  human  creature,  perhaps  the 
friendly  provision  of  a  house  to  live  in  or  of  some  sort  of  state  help 
for  his  family,  must  always  be  unwelcome  to  him,  since  it  implies 
that  he  is  not  able,  like  other  fathers  of  a  family,  to  be  forethought- 
ful and  provident.  He  prefers  to  do  everything  which  is  neces- 
sary himself.  He  insures  himself  in  a  life-insurance  company  and, 
like  anybody  else,  he  looks  out  for  his  own  interests  —  tries  to 
improve  his  conditions  by  securing  good  contracts  with  his 
employer,  by  arranging  organizations  of  his  fellow-workmen,  and 
by  means  of  his  political  rights.  But  whatever  he  accomplishes, 
he  enjoys  it  because  he  has  worked  in  free  competition  against 
opposing  interests.  Any  material  benefits  which  he  might  pur- 
chase by  enduring  the  patronizing  attitude  of  capitalists  or  legis- 
lators would  be  felt  to  be  an  actual  derogation. 

And  thus  it  happens  that  social  democracy,  in  the  technical 
sense,  makes  no  advance  among  American  workmen.  The  Ameri- 
can labourer  does  not  feel  that  his  position  is  inferior;  he  knows 
that  he  has  an  equal  opportunity  with  everybody  else,  and  the 
idea  of  entire  equality  does  not  attract  him,  and  would  even 
deprive  him  of  what  he  holds  most  valuable  —  namely,  his  self- 
initiative,  which  aims  for  the  highest  social  reward  as  a  recognition 
of  the  highest  individual  achievement.  American  society  knows 
no  unwritten  law  whereby  the  working-man  of  to-day  must  be 
the  same  to-morrow,  and  this  gives  to  the  whole  labour  question 
in  America  its  distinction  from  the  labour  question  in  European 
aristocratic  countries.  In  most  cases  the  superiors  have  them- 
selves once  been  labourers.  Millionaires  who  to-day  preside  over 
the  destinies  of  thousands  of  working-men  have  often  themselves 
begun  with  the  shovel  or  hod.  The  workman  knows  that  he 

O 

may  set  his  ambition  as  high  as  he  likes,  and  to  exchange  his 


324.  THE  AMERICANS 

equal  opportunity  for  an  equality  of  reward  would  mean  for  him 
to  sink  back  into  that  social  condition  in  which  industry  is  thought 
to  be  only  a  means  to  something  else,  and  not  in  itself  a  valuable 
activity.  Although  Bellamy  may  already  dream  of  the  common 
umbrella,  his  native  country  is  probably  further  from  social 
democracy  than  any  country  in  Europe,  because  the  spirit  of 
self-initiative  is  here  stronger  than  anywhere  else,  and  because 
the  general  public  is  aware  that  no  class  distinctions  cut  it  off 
from  the  highest  positions  in  the  country.  It  knows  that  every- 
thing depends  on  industry,  energy,  and  intelligence. 

This  does  not  hinder  the  working-men,  in  their  fight  for  better 
conditions  of  labour,  from  adopting  many  socialistic  tenets.  The 
American  calls  it  socialism  even  to  demand  that  the  government 
own  railways,  telegraph  lines,  express  companies,  or  coal-fields, 
or  that  the  city  conduct  tramways,  or  gas  or  electric-light  works. 
Socialism  of  this  sort  is  undoubtedly  progressing,  although  the 
more  extravagant  ideas  find  more  wordy  orators  to  support 
them  than  hearers  to  give  belief.  It  is  also  very  characteristic 
that  the  labour  leaders  do  not  make  such  agitation  their  life  work, 
but  often  after  a  few  years  go  over  to  one  or  another  civil  occupa- 
tion. The  relation  between  working-man  and  capitalist,  more- 
over, is  always  felt  to  be  temporary.  A  man  is  on  one  side  of 
the  line  to-day  and  on  the  other  to-morrow.  There  is  no  firm 
boundary  between  groups  of  men,  but  merely  a  distribution  in 
temporary  groups;  and  this  separates  the  American  labour  unions 
from  even  the  English  unions,  with  which  otherwise  they  have 
much  in  common. 

Many  other  conditions  by  which  the  American  working-man's 
life  is  separated  from  the  Englishman's  are  of  an  economic  sort. 
It  is  remembered,  for  instance,  how  successful  the  English  unions 
have  been  in  establishing  co-operative  stores,  while  in  America 
they  have  failed  in  this.  The  department  shops  in  the  large  cities 
have  been  able  to  sell  cheaper  and  better  goods,  and  have  been 
in  every  way  more  popular.  But  enough  of  comparing  America 
with  the  Old  World  —  we  must  discuss  the  actual  situation  in  the 
New. 

The  labour  movement  of  the  United  States  really  began  in  the 
third  decade  of  the  last  century.  Of  course,  only  the  North  is 
in  question;  in  the  South  slavery  excluded  all  alliances  and 


LABOUR  QUESTION  325 

independent  movements  for  improving  the  condition  of  the 
manual  labourer.  There  had  been  small  strikes  as  early  as  the 
eighteenth  century,  but  the  real  movement  began  with  the  factories 
which  were  built  during  the  nineteenth. 

From  the  very  beginning  the  demand  for  shorter  hours  and 
higher  wages  were  the  main  issues.  At  the  same  time  the  Ameri- 
can world  was  filled  more  or  less  with  fantastic  notions  of  co-opera- 
tion, and  these  influenced  the  course  of  affairs.  Boston  and  New 
York  were  the  centres  of  the  new  movement.  As  early  as  1825 
in  New  York  there  appeared  the  first  exclusively  labour  newspaper, 
the  "Labour  Advocate";  it  commenced  a  literature  which  was  to 
increase  like  an  avalanche.  The  labourers  figured  independently 
in  politics  in  1830,  when  they  had  their  own  candidate  for  gover- 
nor. But  all  political  endeavours  of  the  working  people  have 
been  mere  episodes,  and  the  chief  labour  movements  of  the  century 
have  taken  place  outside  of  politics;  the  leading  unions  have 
generally  found  that  their  strength  lay  in  renouncing  political 
agitation.  Only  when  legal  measures  for  or  against  the  interests 
of  labourers  have  been  in  question,  has  there  been  some  mixing  in 
with  politics,  but  the  American  workmen  have  never  become  a 
political  party. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  thirties,  working-men  of  different 
industries  united  for  the  first  time  in  a  large  organization,  such  as 
later  became  the  regular  form.  But  at  the  outset  of  the  movement 
there  appeared  also  the  opposite  movement  from  the  side  of  the 
capitalists.  For  instance,  in  1832  merchants  and  shipholders  in 
Boston  met  solemnly  to  declare  it  their  duty  to  oppose  the  com- 
binations of  working  people  which  were  formed  for  the  illegal 
purpose  of  preventing  the  individual  workman  from  making  a 
free  choice  as  regards  his  hours  of  labour,  and  for  the  purpose  of 
making  trouble  with  their  employers,  who  already  paid  high 
wages. 

The  organization  of  the  working-man  and  that  of  the  employer 
have  grown  steadily,  and  the  nation  itself  has  virtually  played 
the  role  of  an  attentive  but  neutral  spectator.  In  the  case  of 
direct  conflict  the  sympathy  of  the  country  has  almost  always 
been  on  the  side  of  the  working-man,  since  in  the  concrete  case 
the  most  impressive  point  was  generally  not  the  opposition  be- 
tween capital  and  labour,  but  the  personal  contrast  of  the  needy 


326  THE  AMERICANS 

day-labourer  and  the  rich  employer;  and  the  sentimentality  of  the 
American  has  always  favoured  the  weaker  classes.  The  nation 
however,  has  shown  an  equal  amount  of  sympathy  toward  capital 
whenever  a  general  matter  of  legislation  was  in  question;  that  is, 
whenever  the  problem  has  seemed  more  theoretical  than  personal. 
In  such  cases  the  capitalists  have  always  been  felt  to  be  the 
pioneers  of  the  American  nation  by  putting  their  enterprise  into 
all  sorts  of  new  undertakings,  applying  their  capital  and  intelli- 
gence to  economic  life;  so  that  they  have  seemed  to  a  greater 
extent  in  need  of  national  protection  than  the  workman,  who 
may  always  be  easily  replaced  by  some  one  else. 

Considering  the  matter  as  a  whole,  it  can  be  said  indeed  that 
the  nation  has  preserved  a  general  neutrality,  and  let  both  parties 
virtually  alone.  A  change  has  very  recently  taken  place.  The 
new  conditions  of  the  industrial  struggle  make  it  clearer  day  by 
day  that  there  are  three  parties  to  the  conflict,  rather  than  two; 
that  is,  not  only  capitalist  and  labourer,  but  also  the  general  public, 
which  is  dependent  on  the  industrial  output,  and  therefore  so  imme- 
diately concerned  in  the  settlement  of  differences  as  to  seem,  even 
in  concrete  cases,  entitled  to  take  active  part.  The  turning-point 
came  perhaps  during  the  coal  strike  in  the  winter  of  1902-03, 
when  the  President  himself  stood  out  to  represent  this  third  party. 
But  we  must  follow  the  development  more  minutely  —  must  speak 
of  the  labour  organizations  as  they  exist  to-day,  of  the  results  of 
legislation,  of  the  weapons  employed  by  the  labourers  and  those 
used  by  the  capitalists,  of  their  advantages  and  disadvantages, 
and  of  the  latest  efforts  to  solve  the  problem.  Three  forms 
of  working-men's  organizations  can  be  discriminated  to-day  —  the 
Knights  of  Labour,  the  independent  trades-unions,  and  the  fede- 
rated trades-unions. 

The  Knights  of  Labour  are  by  principle  different  from  both  of 
the  other  groups;  and  their  influence,  although  once  very  great,  is 
now  waning.  Their  fundamental  idea  is  a  moral  one,  while  that 
of  their  rivals  is  a  practical  one.  This  is,  of  course,  not  to  be 
taken  as  meaning  that  the  labour  unions  pursue  immoral  ends  or 
the  Knights  of  Labour  unpractical  ones.  The  Knights  of  Labour 
began  very  modestly  in  1869  as  a  secret  organization,  somewhat 
like  the  Free  Masons,  having  an  elaborate  initiation  and  some- 
what unusual  procedures.  Their  constitution  began  with  the 


LABOUR  QUESTION  327 

motto,  "  Labour  is  noble  and  sacred,'*  and  their  first  endeavours 
were  for  the  intellectual  uplifting  of  the  labourer  and  opposition  to 
everything  which  made  labour  mean  or  unworthy.  The  order 
grew  steadily,  but  at  the  same  time  the  practical  interests  of  dif- 
ferent groups  of  working-men  necessarily  came  into  prominence. 
In  the  middle  eighties,  when  they  gave  up  their  secret  observances, 
the  society  had  about  a  million  members,  and  its  banner  still 
proclaimed  the  one  sentiment  that  industry  and  virtue  not  wealth 
are  the  true  measure  of  individual  and  national  greatness.  Their 
members,  they  insisted,  ought  to  have  a  larger  share  of  the  things 
which  they  produced,  so  as  to  have  more  time  for  their  intellectual, 
moral,  and  social  development.  In  this  moral  spirit,  the  society 
worked  energetically  against  strikes  and  for  the  peaceful  settle- 
ment of  all  disputes. 

Its  principal  weakness  was  perhaps  that,  when  the  membership 
became  large,  it  began  to  take  part  in  politics;  the  Knights 
demanded  a  reform  in  taxation,  in  the  currency,  in  the  credit 
system,  and  a  number  of  other  matters  in  line  with  state  socialism. 
It  was  also  a  source  of  weakness  that,  even  in  local  meetings, 
working-men  of  different  trades  came  together.  This  was  of 
course  quite  in  accordance  with  the  ethical  ideal  of  the  society. 
As  far  as  the  moral  problems  of  the  workmen  are  in  question,  the 
baker,  tailor,  mason,  plumber,  electrician,  and  so  on,  have  many 
interests  which  are  identical;  but  practically  it  turned  out  that 
one  group  had  little  interest  in  its  neighbour  groups,  and  often- 
times even  strongly  conflicting  interests  were  discovered.  Thus 
this  mixed  organization  declined  in  favour  of  labour  societies  which 
comprised  members  of  one  and  only  one  trade,  so  that  at  the 
present  time  the  Knights  of  Labour  are  said  to  number  only 
200,000  and  their  importance  is  greatly  reduced.  It  is  still  un- 
doubted that  the  idealistic  formulation  in  which  they  presented 
the  interests  of  labour  to  the  nation  has  done  much  to  arouse  the 
public  conscience. 

At  the  present  time  the  typical  form  of  organization  is  the  trades- 
union,  and  between  the  independent  and  the  federated  trades- 
unions  there  is  no  fundamental  difference.  There  are  to-day 
over  two  million  working-men  united  in  trades-unions;  the  number 
increases  daily.  And  this  number,  which  comprises  only  two-fifths 
of  all  wage-earners,  is  kept  down,  not  because  only  two-fifths  of 


328  THE  AMERICANS 

the  members  of  each  trade  can  agree  to  unite,  but  because  many 
trades  exist  which  are  not  amenable  to  such  organization;  the 
unions  include  almost  all  men  working  in  some  of  the  most 
important  trades.  The  higher  the  employment  and  the  more 
it  demands  of  preparation,  the  stronger  is  the  organization  of  the 
employed.  Printers,  for  instance,  almost  all  belong  to  their  union, 
and  in  the  building  and  tobacco  trades  there  are  very  few  who 
are  not  members.  The  miners'  union  includes  about  200,000 
men,  who  represent  a  population  of  about  a  million  souls.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  would  be  useless  and  impossible  to  perfect  a  close 
organization  where  new  individuals  can  be  brought  in  any  day 
and  put  to  work  without  any  experience  or  training;  thus  ordinary 
day-labourers  are  not  organized.  The  number  of  two  million 
thus  represents  the  most  important  trades,  and  includes  the  most 
skilled  workers. 

The  oldest  trades-union  in  America  is  the  International  Typo- 
graphical Union,  which  began  in  1850.  It  is  to  be  noticed  at 
once  that  the  distinction  between  national  and  international  trades- 
unions  is  a  wholly  superficial  one,  for  in  the  hundreds  of  so- 
called  international  unions  there  has  been  no  effort  to  stretch 
out  across  the  ocean.  "International"  means  only  that  citizens  of 
Canada  and,  in  a  few  cases,  of  Mexico  are  admitted  to  membership. 
It  has  been  the  experience  of  other  countries,  too,  that  the  printing 
trades  were  the  first  to  organize.  In  America  the  hatmakers 
followed  in  1854,  the  iron  founders  in  1859,  and  the  number  of 
organized  trades  increased  rapidly  during  the  sixties  and  seventies. 
The  special  representation  of  local  interests  soon  demanded,  on 
the  one  hand,  the  division  of  the  larger  societies  into  local  groups, 
and,  on  the  other,  the  affiliation  of  the  larger  societies  having 
somewhat  similar  interests.  Thus  it  has  come  about  that  each 
locality  has  its  local  union,  and  these  unions  are  affiliated  in  state 
organizations  for  purposes  of  state  legislation  and  completely 
unified  in  national  or  international  organizations.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  unions  belonging  to  different  trades  are  pledged  locally 
and  nationally  to  mutual  support.  But  here  it  is  no  longer  a 
question,  as  with  the  Knights  of  Labour,  of  the  mixing  up  of 
diverse  interests,  but  of  systematic  mutual  aid  on  practical  lines. 

The  largest  union  of  this  sort  is  the  American  Federation  of 
Labour,  which  began  its  existence  in  Pittsburg  in  1881,  and  has 


LABOUR  QUESTION  329 

organized  a  veritable  labour  republic.  The  Federation  took  warn- 
ing at  the  outset  from  the  sad  fate  of  previous  federations,  and 
resolved  to  play  no  part  in  politics,  but  to  devote  itself  exclusively 
to  industrial  questions.  It  recognized  the  industrial  autonomy 
and  the  special  character  of  each  affiliating  trades-union,  but 
hoped  to  gain  definite  results  by  co-operation.  They  first  de- 
manded an  eight-hour  day  and  aimed  to  forbid  the  employment 
of  children  under  fourteen  years  of  age,  to  prevent  the  competi- 
tion of  prison  labour  and  the  importation  of  contract  labour;  they 
asked  for  a  change  in  laws  relating  to  the  responsibility  of  factory 
owners  and  for  the  organization  of  Societies,  for  the  establish- 
ment of  government  bureaus  for  labour  statistics,  and  much  else 
of  a  similar  sort.  At  first  the  Federation  had  bitter  quarrels 
with  the  Knights  of  Labour,  and  perhaps  even  as  bitter  a  one  with 
socialistic  visionaries  in  its  own  ranks.  But  a  firm  and  healthy 
basis  was  soon  established,  and  since  the  Federation  assisted  in 
every  way  the  formation  of  local,  provincial,  and  state  organiza- 
tions, the  parts  grew  with  the  help  of  the  whole  and  the  whole 
with  the  help  of  the  parts.  To-day  the  Federation  includes  in 
international  trades-unions  with  29  state  organizations,  542  central 
organizations  for  cities,  and  also  1,850  local  unions  which  are  out- 
side of  any  national  or  international  organizations.  The  interests 
of  this  Federation  are  represented  by  250  weekly  and  monthly 
papers.  The  head  office  is  naturally  Washington,  where  the 
federal  government  has  its  seat.  Gompers  is  its  indefatigable 
president.  Outside  of  this  Federation  are  all  the  trades-unions 
of  railway  employees  and  several  unions  of  masons  and  stone- 
cutters. The  railway  employees  have  always  held  aloof;  their 
union  dates  from  1893,  and  is  said  to  comprise  200,000  men. 

The  trades-unions  are  not  open  to  every  one;  each  member  has 
to  pay  his  initiation  fees  and  make  contributions  to  the  local 
union,  and  through  it  to  the  general  organization.  Many  of  the 
trades-unions  even  require  an  examination  for  entrance;  thus  the 
conditions  for  admission  into  the  union  of  electrical  workers  are 
so  difficult  that  membership  is  recognized  among  the  employers 
themselves  as  the  surest  evidence  of  a  working-man's  competence. 
Every  member  is  further  pledged  to  attend  the  regular  meetings 
of  the  local  branch,  and  in  order  that  these  local  societies  may 
not  be  too  unwieldy,  they  are  generally  divided  into  districts  when 


330  THE  AMERICANS 

the  number  of  members  becomes  too  great  to  admit  of  all  meeting 
together.  The  cigarmakers  of  the  City  of  New  York,  for  exam- 
ple, have  a  trades-union  of  6,000  members,  which  is  divided  into 
ten  smaller  bodies.  Every  single  society  in  the  country  has  its 
own  officials.  If  the  work  of  the  official  takes  all  his  time,  he 
receives  a  salary  equal  to  the  regular  pay  for  work  in  his  trade. 
The  small  organizations  send  delegates  to  the  state  and  national 
federations;  and  wherever  these  provincial  or  federal  affiliations 
represent  different  trades,  each  of  these  trades  has  its  own  repre- 
sentative, and  all  decisions  are  made  with  that  technical  formality 
which  the  American  masters  so  well.  In  accordance  with  this 
paliamentary  rigour,  every  member  is  absolutely  pledged  to  comply 
with  the  decisions  of  the  delegates.  Any  one  who  refuses  to  obey 
when  a  strike  is  ordered  thereby  loses  all  his  rights. 

The  rights  enjoyed  by  the  members  of  the  trades-unions  are 
in  fact  considerable.  Firstly,  the  local  union  is  a  club  and  an  em- 
ployment agency,  and  especially  in  large  cities  these  two  functions 
are  very  important  for  the  American  working-man.  Then  there 
are  the  arrangements  for  insurance  and  aid.  Thus  the  general 
union  of  cigarmakers  of  the  country,  which  combines  414  local 
unions  having  a  total  membership  of  34,000  men,  has  given  in  the 
last  twenty  years  $838,000  for  the  support  of  strikes,  $1,453,000 
for  aid  to  ill  members,  $794,000  for  the  families  of  deceased 
members,  $735,000  for  travelling  expenses,  and  $917,000  for 
unemployed  members  ;  and  most  of  the  large  unions  could  show 
similar  figures.  Yet  these  are  the  lesser  advantages.  The  really 
decisive  thing  is  the  concessions  which  have  been  won  in  the 
economic  fight,  and  which  could  never  have  been  gotten  by  the 
working-men  individually.  Nevertheless,  to-day  not  a  few  men 
hold  off  from  the  unions  and  get  rid  of  paying  their  dues,  be- 
cause they  know  that  whatever  organized  labour  can  achieve,  will 
also  help  those  who  stay  outside. 

The  main  contention  of  these  trades-unions  refers  to  legislation 
and  wages,  and  no  small  part  of  their  work  goes  in  fighting  for 
their  own  existence  —  that  is,  in  fighting  for  the  recognition  of  the 
union  labourer  as  opposed  to  the  non-union  man  —  a  factor  which 
doubtless  is  becoming  more  and  more  important  in  the  industrial 
disputes.  Many  a  strike  has  not  had  wages  or  short  hours  of 
labour  or  the  like  in  view,  but  has  aimed  solely  to  force  the  em« 


LABOUR  QUESTION  331 

ployers  officially  to  recognize  the  trades-unions,  to  make  contracts 
with  the  union  delegates  rather  than  with  individual  men,  and  to 
exclude  all  non-union  labourers. 

The  newly  introduced  contention  for  the  union  label  is  in  the 
same  class.  The  labels  were  first  used  in  San  Francisco,  where 
it  was  aimed  to  exclude  the  Chinese  workmen  from  competition 
with  Americans.  Now  the  labels  are  used  all  over  the  country. 
Every  box  of  cigars,  every  brick,  hat,  or  piano  made  in  factories 
which  employ  union  labour,  bears  the  copyrighted  device  which 
assures  the  purchasing  public  that  the  wares  were  made  under 
approved  social  and  political  conditions.  The  absence  of  the 
label  is  supposed  to  be  a  warning;  but  for  the  population  of  ten 
millions  who  are  connected  with  labour  unions,  it  is  more  than  a 
warning;  it  is  an  invitation  to  boycott,  and  this  is  undoubtedly 
felt  as  a  considerable  pressure  by  manufacturers.  The  more 
the  factories  are  thus  compelled  to  concede  to  the  unions,  and  the 
more  inducements  the  unions  thus  offer  to  prospective  members, 
and  the  faster  therefore  these  come  in,  the  more  power  the  unions 
acquire.  So  the  label  has  become  to-day  a  most  effective  weapon 
of  the  unions. 

But  this  is  only  the  means  to  an  end.  We  must  consider  these 
ends  themselves,  and  first  of  all  labour  legislation.  Most  striking 
and  yet  historically  necessary  is  the  diversity  in  the  statutes  of 
different  states,  which  was  formerly  very  great  but  is  gradually 
diminishing.  The  New  England  states,  and  especially  Massa- 
chusetts, have  gone  first,  and  still  not  so  fast  as  public  opinion  has 
often  desired.  In  the  thirties  there  were  many  lively  fights  for 
the  legislative  regulation  of  the  working  hours  in  factories,  and 
yet  even  the  ten  hours  a  day  for  women  was  not  established  until 
much  later;  on  the  other  hand,  the  employment  of  children  in 
factories  was  legislated  on  at  that  time,  and  in  this  direction  the 
movement  progressed  more  rapidly. 

A  considerable  step  was  taken  in  1869,  when  Massachusetts 
established  at  the  expense  of  the  state  a  bureau  for  labour  statistics, 
the  first  in  the  world;  this  was  required  to  work  up  every  year  a 
report  on  all  phases  of  the  labour  question  —  economic,  industrial, 
social,  hygienic,  educational,  and  political.  One  state  after 
another  imitated  this  statistical  bureau,  and  especially  it  led  to 
the  establishment  of  the  Department  of  Labour  at  Washington, 


332  THE  AMERICANS 

which  has  already  had  a  world-wide  influence.  During  the 
seventies  there  followed  strict  laws  for  the  supervision  of  factories, 
for  precautionary  measures,  and  hygienic  improvements.  Most 
of  the  other  states  came  after,  but  none  departed  widely  from 
the  example  of  Massachusetts,  which  was  also  the  first  state  to 
make  repeated  reductions  in  the  working-day.  Here  it  followed 
the  example  of  the  federal  government.  To  be  sure,  the  reduc- 
tion of  the  working-day  among  federal  employees  was  first 
merely  a  political  catering  to  the  labour  vote,  but  the  Federation 
kept  to  the  point  and  the  separate  states  followed.  Twenty-nine 
states  now  prescribe  eight  hours  as  the  day  for  all  public  employees 
and  the  federal  government  does  the  same. 

The  legislative  changes  in  the  judicial  sphere  have  been  also 
of  importance  for  trades-unions.  According  to  Old  English  law 
at  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century,  it  was  conspiracy 
for  workmen  to  unite  for  the  purposes  which  the  trades-unions 
to-day  hold  before  themselves.  This  doctrine  of  conspiracy, 
which  to  be  sure  from  the  beginning  depended  largely  on  the  arbi- 
trary interpretation  of  the  judges,  has  been  weakened  from  time 
to  time  through  the  century,  and  has  finally  given  away  to  legal 
conceptions  which  put  no  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the  peaceful 
alliance  of  working-men  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  better 
conditions  of  labour.  They  especially  regard  the  strike  as  lawful 
so  long  as  violence  is  not  resorted  to.  Nearly  all  states  have 
now  passed  laws  which  so  narrow  the  old  conception  of  criminal 
conspiracy  that  it  no  longer  stands  in  the  way  of  trades-unions. 
Other  legal  provisions  concern  the  company  stores.  In  some  min- 
ing districts  far  removed  from  public  shops,  the  company  store 
may  still  be  found,  where  the  company  buys  the  articles  needed 
by  its  employees  and  sells  these  things  to  them  at  a  high  price. 
But  nearly  every  state  has  legally  done  away  with  this  system;  it 
was,  indeed,  one  of  the  earliest  demands  of  the  trades-unions. 

There  have  been  great  improvements  too  in  legislation  relating 
to  the  responsibility  of  employees.  The  Anglo-Saxon  law  makes 
an  employer  responsible  for  injury  suffered  by  the  workmen  by 
reason  of  his  work,  but  not  responsible  if  the  injuries  are  due  to 
the  carelessness  of  a  fellow-workman.  The  penalty  fell  then  on 
the  one  who  had  neglected  his  duty.  It  was  said  that  the  work- 
man on  taking  up  his  duties  must  have  known  what  the  dangers 


LABOUR  QUESTION  333 

were.  But  the  more  complicated  the  conditions  of  labour  have 
become,  the  more  the  security  of  any  individual  has  depended 
on  a  great  many  fellow-labourers  who  could  not  be  identified,  so 
that  the  old  law  became  meaningless.  Therefore,  the  pressure  of 
trades-unions  has  in  the  last  half  century  steadily  altered  and  im- 
proved the  law  in  this  respect.  American  state  law  to-day 
virtually  recognizes  the  responsibility  of  the  employer  for  every 
accident,  even  when  due  to  the  carelessness  of  some  other  labourer 
than  the  one  injured. 

Thus  on  the  whole  a  progress  has  been  made  all  along  the  line. 
It  is  true  that  some  states  have  still  much  to  do  in  order  to  come 
up  with  the  most  advanced  states,  and  the  labour  unions  have  still 
many  demands  in  store  which  have  so  far  been  nowhere  complied 
with  —  as,  for  instance,  that  for  the  introduction  of  the  Swiss  refer- 
endum, and  so  forth.  Government  insurance  is  not  on  this  pro- 
gramme —  one  point  in  which  the  American  working-man  remains 
individualistic.  He  prefers  to  make  provision  for  those  dependent 
on  him,  against  old  age,  accident  and  illness,  in  his  own  way, 
by  membership  in  unions  or  insurance  companies.  As  a  fact, 
more  than  half  the  labouring  men  are  insured.  Then  too  the 
number  of  industrial  concerns  is  increasing  which  make  a  volun- 
tary provision  for  their  employees  against  illness  and  old  age. 
This  was  started  by  railroad  companies,  and  the  largest  systems 
fully  realize  that  it  is  in  their  interest  to  secure  steady  labour  by 
putting  a  pension  clause  in  the  contract.  When  a  workman  takes 
work  under  companies  which  offer  such  things,  he  feels  it  to  be 
a  voluntary  industrial  agreement,  while  state  insurance  would 
offend  his  sense  of  independence. 

The  state  has  had  to  deal  with  the  labour  question  again  in  the 
matter  of  strikes,  lockouts,  boycotts,  and  black-lists.  During  the 
last  two  decades  of  the  nineteenth  century,  there  were  22,793 
strikes  in  the  country,  which  involved  117,509  workers;  the  loss 
in  wages  to  the  workmen  was  $257,000,000  and  in  profit  to  the 
employers  $122,000,000;  besides  that  $16,000,000  were  contrib- 
uted to  aid  the  strikes,  so  that  the  total  loss  made  about  $400,- 
000,000.  The  problems  here  in  question  are  of  course  much 
more  important  than  the  mere  financial  loss.  About  51  per  cent, 
of  these  strikes  resulted  successfully  for  the  workmen,  13  per  cent, 
partially  successfully,  and  in  36  per  cent,  the  employers  won. 


AMERICANS 

Since  1741,  when  the  bakers  of  New  York  City  left  work  and 
were  immediately  condemned  for  conspiracy,  there  has  been  no 
lack  of  strikes  in  the  country.  The  first  great  strike  was  among 
sailors  in  1803,  but  frequent  strikes  did  not  occur  until  about 
1830.  The  first  strike  of  really  historical  importance  was  on 
the  railroads  in  1877;  great  irregularities  and  many  street  riots 
accompanied  the  cessation  of  work,  and  the  state  militia  had 
to  be  called  out  to  suppress  the  disturbances  in  Cincinnati,  St. 
Louis,  Chicago,  and  Pittsburg.  The  losses  were  tremendous, 
the  whole  land  suffered  from  the  tumults,  and  in  the  end  the 
working-men  won  nothing.  When  in  the  year  1883  all  the  teleg- 
raphers in  the  country  left  their  work  and  demanded  additional 
payment  for  working  on  Sunday,  most  of  the  country  was  in 
sympathy  with  them;  but  here  too  the  employers,  although  they 
lost  millions  of  dollars,  were  successful.  In  1886  there  were  great 
strikes  again  in  the  railroad  systems  of  the  Southwest. 

The  bitterness  reached  its  highest  point  in  1892,  when  the 
Carnegie  Steel  Works  at  Homestead  were  the  scenes  of  disorder. 
Wages  were  the  matter  under  dispute;  the  company,  which  could 
not  come  to  an  agreement  with  the  labour  union,  proposed  to 
exclude  organized  labour  and  introduced  non-union  workmen. 
The  union  sought  by  the  use  of  violence  to  prevent  the  strangers 
from  working;  the  company  called  for  aid-  from  the  state;  the 
union  still  opposed  even  the  militia,  and  actual  battles  took  place, 
which  only  the  declaration  of  martial  law  by  the  governor,  after 
the  loss  of  many  lives,  was  able  to  suppress. 

The  Chicago  strike  in  1894  was  more  extensive.  It  began 
with  a  strike  in  the  Pullman  factories  in  Chicago,  and  at  its 
height  succeeded  in  stopping  the  traffic  on  a  quarter  of  all  Ameri- 
can railroads.  The  interruption  of  railway  connections  meant 
a  loss  to  every  person  in  the  country,  and  the  total  loss  is  estimated 
at  $80,000,000.  The  worst  accompaniments  of  strikes  soon  ap- 
peared —  riots,  intimidations,  assaults,  and  murders.  And  again 
it  was  necessary  to  call  out  troops  to  restore  peace.  Great  wage 
disputes  followed  presently  in  the  iron  and  steel  trades;  but 
these  were  all  surpassed  in  inner  significance  by  the  great  coal 
strike  of  the  winter  before  last. 

The  conditions  of  labour  in  the  anthracite  coal  mines  of  Penn- 
sylvania were  unfavourable  to  the  labourers.  They  had  bettered 


LABOUR  QUESTION  335 

themselves  in  a  strike  in  1900,  but  the  apparently  adequate  wages 
for  a  day's  labour  yielded  a  very  small  annual  income,  since  there 
was  little  employment  at  some  seasons  of  the  year.  The  working- 
men  felt  that  the  coal  trusts  refused  to  raise  the  wages  by  juggling 
with  arguments;  the  capitalists  tried  to  prove  to  them  that  the 
profit  on  coal  did  not  permit  a  higher  wage.  But  the  labourers 
knew  too  well  that  the  apparently  low  profits  were  due  only  to 
the  fact  that  the  trusts  had  watered  their  stock,  and  especially 
that  the  coal  mines  were  operated  in,  connection  with  railroads 
under  the  same  ownership,  so  that  all  profits  could  be  brought  on 
the  books  to  the  credit  of  the  railroads  instead  of  the  mines.  The 
trades-unions  thought  the  time  was  ripe  for  demanding  eight 
hours  a  day,  a  ten  per  cent,  increase  in  wages,  and  a  fundamental 
recognition  of  trades-unions,  along  with  a  few  other  technical 
points.  The  organized  miners,  under  their  leader,  Mitchell,  offered 
to  wait  a  month,  while  the  points  of  difference  might  be  discussed 
between  both  parties;  Senator  Hanna,  whose  death  a  short  time 
later  took  from  politics  one  of  the  warmest  friends  of  labour, 
offered  his  services  as  mediator,  and  left  no  doubt  that  the  work- 
men would  accept  some  compromise. 

In  spite  of  this  moderation  of  the  working-men,  the  representa- 
tives of  the  mine  owners  refused  in  any  way  to  treat  with  them. 
Their  standpoint  was  that  if  they  recognized  the  trades-unions 
in  their  deliberations,  they  were  beginning  on  a  course  which  they 
might  not  know  how  to  stop;  if  eight  hours  were  demanded  to-day 
by  the  trades-unions,  seven  hours  might  be  demanded  in  the  same 
way  next  year.  The  employers  thought  it  high  time  once  for 
all  to  break  up  the  dictatorial  power  of  the  trades-unions.  Presi- 
dent Baer  explained  that  trades-unions  are  a  menace  to  all 
American  industry.  The  strike  continued.  Now  the  anthracite 
miners  produce  five  million  tons  every  month,  which  supply  all 
the  homes  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  country.  A  cold  winter  came 
on,  and  the  lack  of  coal  throughout  the  country  brought  about 
a  condition  which  resembled  the  misery  and  sufferings  of  a  time 
of  siege.  In  many  places  it  was  not  even  a  matter  of  price,  al- 
though this  was  four  times  what  it  ordinarily  is,  but  the  supply 
of  coal  was  actually  used  up.  Schools  and  churches  had  to  be 
closed  in  many  places.  And  now  the  public  understood  at  last 
perfectly  clearly  that,  if  the  trades-unions  wanted  to  exert  their 


336  THE  AMERICANS 

whole  power,  the  country  would  be  absolutely  helpless  under 
their  tyranny.  Nevertheless,  the  embitterment  turned  most 
strongly  against  the  employers,  who  still  affirmed  that  there  was 
nothing  to  arbitrate,  but  that  the  workmen  simply  must  give  in. 

The  workmen  then  put  themselves  on  the  wrong  side  by 
threatening  with  violence  all  men  who  came  to  take  their  places 
in  the  mines;  indeed,  they  forced  back  by  barbarous  methods 
the  engineers  who  came  to  pump  out  the  water  which  was  col- 
lecting in  the  mines.  Troops  had  to  be  called,  but  at  that  moment 
the  President  took  the  first  steps  toward  a  solution  of  the  problem 
by  calling  representatives  of  both  parties  to  Washington.  A 
commission  was  finally  appointed,  composed  of  representatives 
of  both  parties  and  well-known  men  who  were  neutrally  inclined, 
and  after  Pierpont  Morgan  on  the  side  of  the  capitalists  gave 
the  signal  to  consent  to  arbitration,  the  coal  miners  went  back 
to  work.  The  commission  met,  and  some  time  later  in  the  year 
1903  decided  about  half  of  the  points  under  dispute  in  favour  of 
the  miners,  the  other  half  against  them.  This  was  by  no  means 
the  last  strike;  the  building  trades  in  many  parts  of  the  country, 
and  specially  in  New  York,  were  thoroughly  demoralized  during 
the  year  1903,  the  movement  proceeding  from  the  strikes  of 
5,000  bridge  builders:  then  too,  the  textile  workers  of  the  East 
and  miners  of  the  South  have  been  restless.  And  at  the  present 
time,  every  day  sees  some  small  strike  or  other  inaugurated, 
and  any  day  may  see  some  very  large  strike  declared.  It  was  the 
coal  strike,  however,  which  set  the  nation  thinking  and  showed 
up  the  dangers  which  are  threatening. 

The  results  of  the  coal  strike  had  shown  the  friends  of  trades- 
unions  more  clearly  than  ever  the  strength  which  lies  in  unity. 
They  had  seen  that  results  could  be  achieved  by  united  efforts 
such  as  could  never  have  been  gotten  by  the  unorganized  working- 
man.  They  had  seen  with  satisfaction  that  the  trades-unions 
had  taken  a  conservative  part  by  putting  off  the  great  strike  as 
long  as  possible;  and  they  had  seen  that  the  employers  would  not 
have  consented  for  their  part  to  any  arbitration.  In  the  end  not 
only  many  of  the  union  demands  had  been  granted,  but,  more 
than  that,  the  policy  of  the  trades-unions  had  been  put  in  the  most 
favourable  light.  A  whole  country  had  to  suffer,  human  lives 
were  sacrificed  and  millions  lost,  and  in  the  end  the  trades-unions 


LABOUR  QUESTION  337 

won  their  point;  if  the  mine  owners  had  been  willing  in  the  autumn 
to  do  what  they  had  to  do  in  winter,  a  great  deal  of  injury  would 
have  been  spared.  But  the  trades-unions  could  truthfully  say 
that  they  had  been  true  to  their  policy  and  had  always  preferred 
peace  to  war.  The  majority  of  votes  within  the  trades-unions 
was  against  thoughtless  and  unnecessary  strife,  against  declaring 
a  strike  until  all  other  means  had  been  tried.  Many  people 
felt  that  the  interests  of  that  neutral  party,  the  nation  at  large, 
were  better  looked  out  for  by  the  more  /thoughtful  union  leaders 
than  by  such  capitalists  as  were  the  Pennsylvania  coal  magnates. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  was  felt  that  the  most  calmly  planned 
strikes  can  lead  to  embitterment  and  violence,  and  the  tyran- 
nical and  murderous  suppression  of  the  non-union  working-man. 
And  here  the  American  sense  of  freedom  is  touched.  Every  man 
has  the  right  to  decide  freely  under  what  conditions  he  shall  work; 
the  strike-breaker  was  regarded  as  a  hero,  and  the  trusts  did  their 
best  to  convince  the  world  that  the  interference  of  the  trades- 
unions  in  the  movements  of  non-union  workmen  is  a  menace 
to  American  democracy.  The  unionists  admit  that  it  is  unlawful 
power  which  they  have  used,  but  pretend  that  they  had  a  moral 
right;  they  say  that  every  working-man  has  a  claim  on  the  factory 
more  than  his  weekly  wage:  for  he  has  contributed  to  its  success; 
he  has  in  a  way  a  moral  share,  which  brings  him  no  income,  but 
which  ought  to  assure  him  of  his  position.  And  now,  if  during  a 
strike  an  outside  person  comes  in  and  takes  his  place,  it  is  like  being 
robbed  of  something  which  he  owns,  and  he  has  the  right  of  assert- 
ing his  claim  with  such  means  as  any  man  would  use  on  being 
assaulted. 

Capitalists  turned  against  the  trades-unions  with  the  greater 
consternation,  because  these  latter  put  not  only  the  independent 
working-man,  but  also  the  companies,  in  a  powerless  position. 
They  showed  that  their  right  to  manage  their  own  property  was 
gone,  and  that  the  capitalist  was  no  longer  the  owner  of  his  own 
factory  the  instant  he  was  not  able  to  treat  with  the  individual 
working-man,  but  forced  to  subject  himself  to  the  representa- 
tives of  trades-unions.  It  was  easy  to  show  that  while  he,  as  under- 
taker of  the  business,  had  to  take  all  the  risks  and  be  always 
energetic  and  industrious,  the  working-men  were  simply  showing 
their  greed  and  laziness  by  wanting  shorter  days,  and  that  they 


338  THE  AMERICANS 

would  never  be  really  satisfied.  It  was  affirmed  that  the  best 
workman  was  an  unwilling  party  to  the  strike,  and  that  he  would 
more  gladly  attend  to  his  work  than  to  trades-union  politics,  and 
that  as  a  fact  he  let  his  trades-union  be  run  by  irresponsible  good- 
for-nothings,  who  played  the  part  of  demagogues.  Every  man 
who  had  ever  saved  a  cent  and  laid  it  up,  ought  to  be  on  the  side 
of  the.  capitalist. 

But  the  public  took  a  rather  different  attitude,  and  felt  that  the 
group  of  capitalists  had  been  revealed  in  a  bad  light  by  the 
strike,  and  when  their  representatives  came  to  instruct  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States,  in  a  brusque  way,  on  the  rights  of 
property,  the  public  began  to  revise  its  traditional  ideas.  The 
public  came  to  see  that  such  large  corporations  as  were  here  in 
question  were  no  longer  private  enterprises  in  the  ordinary  sense 
of  the  word;  that  a  steel  trust  or  coal  trust  cannot  be  such  an 
independent  factor  in  the  commonwealth  as  a  grocery  shop  in  a 
country  town.  It  was  felt  that  the  tremendous  growth  of  the 
business  was  the  product  of  national  forces,  and  in  part  dependent 
on  public  franchises;  wherefore,  the  business  itself,  although 
privately  owned,  nevertheless  had  a  semi-public  character,  so 
that  the  public  should  not  be  refused  the  right  to  interfere  in  its 
management.  Belief  in  state  socialism,  in  state  ownership  of 
railroads  and  mines,  made  great  progress  in  those  days;  and  the 
conviction  made  still  greater  progress  that  the  working-man  has 
a  moral  right  to  take  an  active  hand  in  managing  the  business 
in  which  he  works. 

And  so  public  opinion  has  come  round  to  think  that  violence 
on  the  part  of  working-men,  and  refusal  to  treat  with  trades-unions 
on  the  part  of  employers,  are  equally  to  be  condemned.  The 
community  will  hardly  again  permit  capital  and  labour  to  fight 
out  their  battles  in  public  and  make  the  whole  nation  suffer.  It 
demands  that,  now  that  labour  is  actually  organized  in  unions, 
disputes  shall  be  brought  up  for  settlement  before  delegates  from 
both  sides,  and  that  where  these  cannot  come  to  a  solution  the 
matter  shall  be  brought  before  a  neutral  court  of  arbitration 
which  both  sides  agree  to  recognize. 

Of  course  these  disputes  will  continue  to  arise,  since  the  price 
of  manufactured  articles  is  always  changing;  the  employer  will 
always  try  to  lower  wages  in  dull  times,  and  the  labourers  will 


LABOUR  QUESTION  33$ 

try  to  force  wages  up  during  busy  times.  But  it  may  be  expected 
that  the  leaders  of  trades-unions  will  be  able  to  consider  the  whole 
situation  intelligently  and  to  guide  the  masses  of  working-men 
carefully  through  their  ambitions  and  disappointments.  Al- 
though the  employers  of  labour  continue  to  assert  that,  so  soon  as 
they  are  handed  over  to  the  mercies  of  the  trades-unions,  the  spirit 
of  enterprise  will  be  entirely  throttled  and  capital  will  decline  to 
offer  itself,  because  all  profit  is  sacrificed  to  the  selfish  tyranny  of 
the  working  people,  nevertheless,  experience  does  not  show  this 
to  be  true.  Trades-unions  are  convinced  that,  in  these  days  of 
machinery,  too  small  a  part  of  the  profit  falls  to  the  labouring  man; 
but  they  know  perfectly  well  that  they  themselves  can  prosper 
only  when  the  industry  as  a  whole  is  prosperous,  and  that  it  cannot 
prosper  if  it  is  burdened  by  too  high  wages.  Trades-unions  know 
also  that  after  all  they  will  be  able  to  gain  their  point  in  courts 
of  arbitration  and  elsewhere  only  so  long  as  they  have  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  public  on  their  side,  and  that  every  undue  encroach- 
ment on  the  profits  of  capital  and  every  discouragement  of  the 
spirit  of  enterprise  will  quickly  lose  them  the  sympathy  of  the 
American  nation.  If  they  really  attack  American  industry, 
public  opinion  will  go  against  them.  That  they  know,  and  there- 
fore the  confidence  is  justified  that,  after  all,  their  demands 
will  never  endanger  the  true  interests  of  capital.  Capitalists 
know  to-day  that  they  will  always  have  trades-unions  to  deal 
with,  and  that  it  will  be  best  to  adapt  themselves  to  the  situation. 
Many  thoughtful  captains  of  industry  admit  that  the  discipline 
of  trades-unions  has  had  some  salutary  effect,  and  that  some  of 
their  propositions,  such  as  the  sliding  wage-scale,  have  helped 
on  industry. 

Thus  both  parties  are  about  to  recognize  each  other  with  a  con- 
siderable understanding.  They  instinctively  feel  that  the  same 
condition  has  developed  itself  on  both  sides;  on  the  one  side 
capital  is  combined  in  trusts,  and  on  the  other  labour  has  organized 
into  unions.  Trusts  suppress  the  competition  of  capital,  trades- 
unions  kill  the  non-union  competitor.  The  trusts  use  as  weapons 
high  dividends,  preferential  rates,  and  monopoly  of  raw  material; 
the  unions  use  the  weapons  of  old-age  insurance,  free  aid  during 
illness,  the  union  label,  strikes,  and  boycotts.  Both  sides  have 
strengthened  their  position  by  the  consolidation  of  many  interests; 


THE  AMERICANS 

just  as  the  steel  works  are  allied  with  large  banks,  railroads, 
steamship  lines,  copper  mines,  and  oil  companies,  so  the  leaders  of 
trades-unions  take  care  to  spread  the  disputes  of  one  industry 
into  other  industries.  * 

Moreover,  both  parties  fight  alike  by  means  of  artificially 
limiting  the  market;  and  this  is,  perhaps,  the  most  dangerous 
factor  of  all.  While  the  trusts  are  continually  abandoning 
factories  or  temporarily  shutting  them  down  in  order  to  curtail 
production,  so  the  trades-unions  restrict  the  offering  of  labour.  Not 
every  man  who  wants  to  learn  a  trade  is  admitted  to  an  apprentice- 
ship; the  trades-union  does  not  allow  young  men  to  come  in  while 
old  men  who  have  experience  are  out  of  work.  The  regulation 
of  the  flow  of  labour  into  the  trades  which  require  training,  and 
the  refusal  of  union  men  to  work  with  non-union  men,  are  cer- 
tainly the  most  tyrannical  features  of  the  situation;  but  the  trades- 
unions  are  not  embarrassed  to  find  high-sounding  arguments  for 
their  course,  just  as  the  trusts  have  found  for  their  own  similar 
doings. 

Things  will  continue  in  this  way  on  both  sides,  no  doubt;  and  the 
nation  at  large  can  be  content,  so  far  at  least  as,  through  this  con- 
centration and  strict  discipline  on  both  sides,  the  outcome  of  the 
labour  question  is  considerably  simplified.  As  long  as  the  mass 
of  capitalists  is  split  up  and  that  of  working-men  chaotically 
divided,  arbitration  is  difficult,  and  the  results  are  not  binding. 
But  when  two  well-organized  parties  oppose  each  other  in  a 
businesslike  way,  with  mutual  consideration  and  respect,  the 
conference  will  be  short,  businesslike,  and  effective. 

The  next  thing  necessary  is  simply  an  arrangement  which  shall 
be  so  far  as  possible  automatic  for  appointing  an  unprejudiced 
court  of  arbitration  in  any  case  when  the  two  parties  are  not 
able  to  agree.  In  this  matter  public  opinion  has  gone  energet- 
ically to  work.  In  December,  1901,  at  the  instigation  of  the 
National  Civic  League,  a  conference  of  leading  representatives 
of  capital  and  labour  was  called,  and  this  appointed  a  standing 
commission  to  pass  on  disputes  between  employers  and  labourers. 
All  three  parties  were  represented  here  —  capital  by  the  presidents 
of  the  largest  trusts,  railroads,  and  banks,  trades-unions  by  the 
leaders  of  their  various  organizations,  and  the  public  by  such 
men  as  Grover  Cleveland,  Charles  Francis  Adams,  Archbishop 


LABOUR  QUESTION  341 

Ireland,  President  Eliot,  and  others,  who  enjoy  the  confidence 
and  esteem  of  the  whole  nation. 

It  has  been  objected  that  the  millions  of  unorganized  working- 
men  are  not  represented,  but  in  fact  these  neutral  leading  men  of 
the  nation  are  at  the  same  time  the  representatives  of  unorganized 
labour.  If  these  were  in  any  other  way  to  be  represented  by  dele- 
gates, they  would  have  to  organize  in  order  to  choose  such  dele- 
gates. But  this  is  just  what  unorganized  labour  does  not  wish 
to  do.  Everything  looks  as  if  this  permanent  commission  would 
have  the  confidence  of  the  nation  and,  although  created  unoffi- 
cially, would  contribute  a  good  deal  to  prevent  the  outbreak  of 
real  industrial  wars.  But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  nation 
is  ready  to  go  further,  and  that  if  the  two  well-organized  parties, 
together  with  the  men  in  whom  both  sides  put  their  confidence, 
are  still  not  able  to  come  to  harmonious  agreement,  nor  even  to 
the  appointment  of  a  court  of  arbitration,  then  the  nation  will 
quite  likely  appoint  an  official  and  legally  authorized  board  for 
compulsory  arbitration. 

The  example  of  New  Zealand  is  encouraging  in  this  direction, 
although  the  experience  of  a  small  country  may  not  be  imme- 
diately applicable  to  a  large  one.  Nevertheless,  there  is  some 
wish  to  imitate  that  example,  and  to  disregard  the  outraged  feel- 
ings of  capitalists  who  predict  that  American  industry  will  collapse 
utterly  if  the  country  becomes  socialistic  enough  to  appoint 
arbitrators  with  the  power  to  prescribe  to  capital  what  wages  it 
shall  pay,  and  how  otherwise  it  shall  carry  on  business.  The 
nation  has  learned  a  good  deal  in  the  last  two  or  three  years. 

A  peaceable  solution  of  the  problem  is  promised  also  from 
another  direction.  The  dramatic  wars  have  concerned  generally 
very  large  companies,  which  employ  thousands  of  workmen.  The 
whole  thing  has  been  repeated,  however,  on  a  more  modest  scale, 
where  thousands  of  working  people  stood  opposed  not  to  large 
trusts  but  to  hundreds  of  small  employers,  who  were  not  separated 
from  the  working-men  by  any  social  cleft.  Here  the  battles  have 
often  been  more  disastrous  for  the  employers  and  their  helpless- 
ness before  small  unions  more  patent.  Then  it  became  natural 
for  them  to  imitate  the  example  of  the  workmen  and  to  form 
organizations  to  regulate  the  situation. 

The  first  employers'  union  was  formed  in  1890  by  the  owners  of 


342  THE  AMERICANS 

newspapers,  for  whom  sudden  strikes  are  of  course  especially 
disastrous.  For  ten  years  very  few  trades  followed  this  example; 
but  in  the  last  few  years  trades-unions  of  employers  have  been 
quietly  forming  in  almost  all  trades,  and  here  the  situation  has 
been  much  more  favourable  from  the  outset  for  bringing  employer 
and  labourer  to  a  mutual  understanding.  While  the  employers 
were  not  organized,  an  understanding  was  hard  to  arrive  at;  but 
now  both  sides  are  able  to  make  contracts  which  must  be  in  all 
respects  advantageous,  and  one  of  the  most  important  clauses  has 
regularly  been  that  disputes  shall  be  submitted  to  a  court  of  arbi- 
tration. 

Whether  this  solution  will  be  a  source  of  great  satisfaction  to 
the  public  seems  doubtful,  since,  as  soon  as  local  employers  and 
working-men  close  an  agreement  for  offensive  and  defensive  co- 
operation, the  general  public  is  left  in  the  lurch,  and  an  absolute 
monopoly  is  created.  When,  for  instance,  in  a  large  city,  all  the 
proprietors  in  the  electric  trades  have  agreed  to  employ  only 
union  workmen,  and  all  workmen  have  agreed  to  work  for  only 
such  as  belong  to  the  employers'  union,  it  is  hardly  possible  for 
a  new  employer  to  step  in  as  competitor  and  lower  prices,  since 
he  would  have  difficulty  in  getting  workmen.  The  consequence 
is  that  every  house  owner  in  the  city  who  wants  an  electric  bell 
must  pay  such  prices  as  the  employers'  and  workmen's  unions 
have  seen  fit  to  agree  on.  Free  competition  is  killed. 

The  problem  of  so-called  economic  freedom  is  thus  opened 
up  again.  Trades-unions  are,  of  course,  the  product  of  free  and 
lawful  agreement,  but  one  of  their  most  important  achievements 
is  to  pledge  themselves  to  furnish  the  employers'  union  with  a 
certain  number  of  workmen,  which  is  sufficient  for  all  needs.  In 
return  for  this  they  receive  the  promise  of  the  employers  to  hire 
only  members  of  the  working-men's  union.  The  result  is,  then, 
that  the  workman  himself  becomes  a  mere  pawn,  and  is  dealt 
about  like  a  Chinese  coolie. 

It  is  clear  that  these  latest  movements  are  able  to  contribute 
a  great  deal,  and  already  have  so  contributed,  to  the  reconciliation 
of  capital  and  labour  and  to  an  appreciation  of  their  common 
interests.  The  right  is  being  more  and  more  conceded  to  labour 
unions  of  controlling  certain  matters  which  relate  to  the  discipline 
and  conditions  of  work,  and  more  assurance  is  given  to  the  work- 


LABOUR  QUESTION  343 

ing-men  of  permanent  employment,  so  that  they  are  able  to  bring 
up  their  families  with  more  confidence  and  security.  And  cases 
of  dispute  are  more  and  more  looked  on  as  differences  of  opinion 
between  partners  of  equal  rank. 

A  good  deal  may  still  be  done  on  both  sides;  especially  the  labour 
unions  must  be  more  strict  in  their  discipline:  they  must  become 
responsible  for  seeing  that  their  members  refrain  from  every 
sort  of  violence  during  wage  wars,  and  that  every  violation  of 
law,  particularly  with  regard  to  strike-breakers,  is  avoided.  It  is 
true  that  labour  unions  have  always  preached  calmness,  but  have 
nevertheless  looked  on  willingly  when  individual  members  or 
groups  of  members,  in  their  anger,  have  indulged  in  lawlessness  and 
crime.  This  must  be  stopped.  It  was  in  the  wish  to  avoid  such 
responsibility  that  labour  unions  have  hitherto  struggled  against  be- 
ing forced  to  become  legal  corporations;  they  have  not  wished  to 
be  legally  liable  for  damages  committed  by  their  members.  But 
such  legal  liability  will  be  absolutely  necessary  if  contracts  between 
the  unions  of  employers  and  those  of  labourers  are  to  become  im- 
portant. It  is  perhaps  even  more  necessary  for  both  sides  to  learn 
what  apparently  American  public  opinion  has  forgotten,  that  a 
court  of  arbitration  must  really  arbitrate  judicially  and  not  merely 
hit  on  compromises. 

The  labour  question  is  still  not  solved  in  America;  but  one  must 
close  one's  eyes  to  the  events  of  recent  years  in  order  to  think  that 
it  is  unsolvable,  or  even  unlikely  to  be  solved  soon.  The  period  of 
warfare  seems  in  the  East  nearly  over;  both  sides  have  found 
ways  of  asserting  themselves  without  impairing  the  progress  of 
the  nation's  industry.  And  the  nation  knows  that  its  progress 
will  be  more  rapid  in  proportion  as  both  parties  maintain  their 
equilibrium  and  protect  industrial  life  from  the  tyranny  of  mo- 
nopolies, whether  of  capital  or  labour. 


PART  THREE 

INTELLECTUAL  LIFE 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

The  Spirit  of  Self-Perfection 

THERE  are  three  capital  cities  in  the  United  States — Wash- 
ington the  political  capital,  New  York  the  commercial, 
and  Boston  the  intellectual  capital.  Everything  in  Wash- 
ington is  so  completely  subordinated  to  the  political  life  that  even 
the  outward  aspect  of  the  city  is  markedly  different  from  that 
of  other  American  cities;  buying  and  selling  scarcely  exist.  In 
spite  of  its  three  hundred  thousand  inhabitants,  one  is  reminded 
of  Potsdam  or  Versailles;  diplomats,  legislators,  and  officials  set 
the  keynote.  Washington  is  unique  in  the  country,  and  no 
other  large  city  tries  to  compete  with  it;  unless,  indeed,  on  a  very 
small  scale  a  few  state  capitals,  like  Albany,  which  are  situated 
away  from  the  commercial  centres.  Being  unique,  Washington 
remains  isolated,  and  its  influence  is  confined  to  the  political 
sphere.  As  a  result,  there  is  a  slight  feeling  of  the  unnatural, 
or  even  the  unreal,  about  it;  any  movements  emanating  from 
Washington  which  are  not  political,  hardly  come  to  their  full 
fruition.  And  although  the  city  aspires  to  do,  and  does  do,  much 
for  art,  culture,  and  especially  for  science,  its  general  initiative 
seems  always  to  be  lying  under  the  weight  of  officialdom.  It  will 
never  become  the  capital  of  intellect. 

In  a  like  way,  New  York  is  really  informed  by  but  a  single 
impulse  —  the  struggle  for  economic  greatness.  This  is  the  mean- 
ing and  the  moral  of  its  life.  In  this  respect,  New  York  is  not, 
like  Washington,  unique.  Chicago  makes  terrific  strides  in 
emulation  of  New  York;  and  yet,  so  far  as  one  now  sees,  the  city 
of  three  million  dwellers  around  the  mouth  of  the  Hudson  will 
continue  to  be  the  economic  centre  of  the  New  World.  The 
wholesale  merchants,  the  banker  potentates,  and  the  corporation 
attorneys  set  there  the  pace,  as  the  senators  and  diplomats  in 


348  THE  AMERICANS 

Washington,  and  dominate  all  the  activities  of  the  metropolis. 
Through  their  influence  New  York  has  become  the  centre  of 
luxury  and  fashion,  and  wealth  the  most  powerful  factor  in  its 
social  life.  All  this  cannot  take  place,  and  in  such  extreme  wise, 
without  affecting  profoundly  the  other  factors  of  culture.  The 
commercial  spirit  can  be  detected  in  everything  that  comes  from 
New  York.  On  the  surface  it  looks  as  if  the  metropolis  of  com- 
merce and  luxury  might  perhaps  be  usurping  for  itself  a  leading 
place  in  other  matters.  And  it  is  true  that  the  politics  of  New 
York  are  important,  and  that  her  newspapers  have  influence 
throughout  the  land.  But  yet  a  real  political  centre  she  will 
never  become;  new  and  great  political  impulses  do  not  withstand 
her  commercial  atmosphere.  New  York  is  the  chief  clearing- 
house for  politics  and  industry;  purely  political  ideas  it  trans- 
forms into  commercial. 

This  is  still  more  true  of  strictly  intellectual  movements.  One 
must  not  be  misled  by  the  fact  that  there  is  no  other  city  in  the 
land  where  so  many  authors  reside,  where  so  many  books  and 
magazines  are  published,  or  so  many  works  of  art  of  all  kinds 
are  sold;  or  yet  where  so  many  apostles  of  reform  lift  up  their 
voices.  That  the  millions  of  inhabitants  in  New  York  con- 
stitute the  greatest  theatre  for  moral  and  social  reforms,  does  not 
prove  that  the  true  springs  of  moral  energy  lie  there.  And  the 
flourishing  state  of  her  literary  and  artistic  activities  proceeds, 
once  more,  from  her  economic  greatness  rather  than  from  any 
real  productive  energy  or  intellectual  fruitfulness.  The  com- 
mercial side  of  the  intellectual  life  of  America  has  very  naturally 
centred  itself  in  New  York  and  there  organized;  but  this  out- 
ward connection  between  intellect  and  the  metropolis  of  trade 
has  very  little  to  do  with  real  intellectual  initiative.  Such  asso- 
ciation rather  weakens  than  strengthens  the  true  intellectual 
life;  it  subjects  art  to  the  influence  of  fashion,  literature  to  the 
demands  of  commerce,  and  would  make  science  bow  to  the 
exigencies  of  practical  life;  in  short,  it  makes  imminent  all  the  dan- 
gers of  superficiality.  The  intellectual  life  of  New  York  may 
be  outwardly  resplendent,  but  it  pays  for  this  in  depth;  it  brings 
into  being  no  movements  of  profound  significance,  and  therefore 
has  no  standing  as  a  national  centre  in  these  respects.  As  the 
intellectual  life  of  the  political  capital  bears  the  stamp  of 


SELF-PERFECTION  349 

officialdom,  so  is  that  of  the  commercial  capital  marked  with 
the  superficiality  characteristic  of  trade  and  luxury.  Intellec- 
tual life  will  originate  new  thoughts  and  spread  them  through 
the  country  only  when  it  is  earnest,  pure,  and  deep;  and  informed, 
above  all,  with  an  ideal. 

The  capital  of  the  intellectual  life  is  Boston,  and  just  as  every- 
thing which  comes  out  of  Washington  is  tinged  with  politics, 
or  out  of  New  York  with  commerce,  so  are  all  the  activities  of 
Boston  marked  by  an  intellectual  striving  for  ideal  excellence. 
Even  its  commerce  and  politics  are  imbued  with  its  ideals. 

It  is  surprising  how  this  peculiar  feature  of  Boston  strikes  even 
the  superficial  observer.  The  European,  who  after  the  prescribed 
fashion  lands  at  New  York  and  travels  to  Philadelphia,  Wash- 
ington, Chicago,  and  Niagara,  and  then  winds  up  his  journey 
through  the  United  States  in  Boston,  has  in  this  last  place  gener- 
ally the  impression  that  he  has  already  come  back  from  the  New 
World  into  the  Old.  The  admirable  traditions  of  culture,  the 
thoroughly  intellectual  character  of  the  society,  the  predominance 
of  interests  which  are  not  commercial  —  in  fact,  even  the  quaint 
and  picturesque  look  of  the  city  —  everything  strikes  him  as  being 
so  entirely  different  from  what  his  fancy  had  pictured,  from  its 
Old  World  point  of  view,  as  being  specifically  American.  And 
no  less  is  it  different  from  what  the  rest  of  his  experience  of  the 
New  World  has  given  him.  Not  until  he  knows  the  country 
more  thoroughly  does  he  begin  to  understand  that  really  in  this 
Yankee  city  the  true  spirit  of  the  purely  American  life  is  embodied. 

The  American  himself  recognizes  this  leading  position  of 
Boston  in  the  intellectual  life  of  his  country,  although  he  often 
recognizes  it  with  mixed  feelings.  He  is  fond,  with  the  light 
irony  of  Holmes,  to  call  Boston  "the  hub  of  the  universe."  He 
likes  to  poke  fun  at  the  Boston  woman  by  calling  her  a  "blue- 
stocking," and  the  comic  papers  habitually  affirm  that  in  Boston 
all  cabbies  speak  Latin.  But  this  does  not  obscure  from  him  the 
knowledge  that  almost  everything  which  is  intellectually  exalted 
and  significant  in  this  country  has  come  from  Boston,  that  Massa- 
chusetts, under  the  leadership  of  Boston,  has  become  the  foremost 
example  in  all  matters  of  education  and  of  real  culture,  and  that 
there,  on  the  ground  of  the  oldest  and  largest  academy  of  the  coun- 
try —  Harvard  University  —  the  true  home  of  New  World  ideals  is 


35o  THE  AMERICANS 

to  be  found.  And  the  intellectual  pre-eminence  of  New  England  is 
no  less  recognizable  in  the  representatives  of  its  culture  which 
Boston  sends  forth  through  the  country;  the  artistic  triumph  of 
the  Columbian  Exposition  may  be  ascribed  to  Chicago,  but  very 
many  of  the  men  who  accomplished  this  work  came  from  Massa- 
chusetts; the  reform  movement  against  Tammany  belongs  to 
the  moral  annals  of  New  York,  but  those  workers  whose  moral 
enthusiasm  gained  the  victory  are  from  New  England.  This 
latent  impression,  that  all  the  best  aesthetic  and  moral  and  intel- 
lectual impulses  originate  in  New  England,  becomes  especially 
deep  the  instant  one  turns  one's  gaze  into  the  past.  The  true 
picture  is  at  the  present  day  somewhat  overlaid,  because  owing 
to  the  industrial  development  of  the  West  the  emigration  from 
New  England  has  taken  on  such  large  proportions  that  the 
essential  traits  of  Massachusetts  have  been  carried  through  the 
whole  land.  In  past  times,  her  peculiar  pre-eminence  was  much 
more  marked. 

Whoever  traces  back  the  origins  of  American  intellectual  life 
must  go  to  the  fourth  decade  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Then 
the  colonies  in  the  Southern  and  Middle  States  were  flourishing 
as  well  as  the  Northern  colonies  of  New  England;  but  only  in 
these  last  was  there  any  real  initiative  toward  intellectual  culture. 
In  the  year  1636,  only  eight  years  after  the  foundation  of  Boston, 
Harvard  College  was  founded  as  the  first,  and  for- a  long  while 
the  only,  school  of  higher  learning.  And  among  the  products  of 
the  printing-press  which  this  country  gave  forth  in  the  whole 
seventeenth  century  such  an  astonishing  majority  comes  from 
New  England  that  American  literary  history  has  no  need  to  con- 
sider the  other  colonies  of  that  time.  The  most  considerable 
literary  figure  of  the  country  at  that  time  was  Cotton  Mather, 
a  Bostonian.  The  eighteenth  century  perpetuated  these  tradi- 
tions. The  greatest  thinker  of  the  country,  Jonathan  Edwards, 
was  developed  at  Harvard,  and  Benjamin  Franklin  was  brought 
up  in  Boston.  The  literature  of  New  England  was  the  best 
which  the  country  had  so  far  produced,  and  when  the  time  came 
for  breaking  away  politically  from  England,  then  in  the  same 
way  the  moral  energy  and  enthusiasm  of  Boston  took  front 
rank. 

Not  until  these  days  of  political  independence  did  the  true 


SELF-PERFECTION  351 

history  of  the  free  and  independent  intellectual  life  of  America 
begin.  Now  one  name  followed  close  on  another,  and  most  of 
the  great  ones  pertained  to  New  England.  Poets  like  Long- 
fellow, Lowell,  and  Holmes  were  Bostonians;  Whittier  and 
Hawthorne  also  sprang  from  the  soil  of  New  England.  Here, 
too,  appeared  the  intellectually  leading  magazines;  in  the 
first  half  of  the  century  the  North  American  Review,  in  the 
second  half  the  Atlantic  Monthly.  Here  the  religious  movement  of 
Unitarianism  worked  itself  out,  and  here  was  formed  that  school 
of  philosophers  in  whose  midst  stood  the  shining  figure  of  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson.  Here  sounded  the  most  potent  words  against 
slavery;  here  Parker,  Garrison,  Phillips,  and  Sumner  poured 
forth  their  charges  against  the  South  into  the  midst  of  a  public 
morally  aroused.  Here,  also,  first  flourished  the  quiet  work  of 
scientific  investigation.  Since  the  day  when  Ticknor  and  Everett 
studied  in  G6ttingen  in  the  year  1815,  there  sprang  up  in  Massa- 
chusetts, more  than  anywhere  else,  the  custom  which  caused 
young  American  scholars  to  frequent  German  schools  of  higher 
learning.  The  historians  Prescott,  Sparks,  Bancroft,  Parkman, 
and  Motley  were  among  this  number.  Here  in  Boston  was  the 
classic  ground  for  the  cultivation  of  serious  music,  and  here  was 
founded  the  first  large  public  library.  And  all  these  movements 
have  continued  down  to  this  day.  None  of  the  traditions  are 
dead;  and  any  one  who  is  not  deceived  by  superficial  impres- 
sions knows  that  the  most  essential  traits  of  Boston  and  New 
England  are  the  ones  which,  in  respect  to  intellectual  life,  lead 
the  nation.  Quite  as  the  marble  Capitol  at  Washington  is  the 
symbol  of  the  political  power  of  America,  and  the  sky-scrapers 
of  lower  Broadway  are  the  symbol  of  America's  economic  life, 
so  we  may  say  the  elm-shaded  college  yard  of  Harvard  is 
the  symbol  of  American  intellectual  capacity  and  accomplishment. 
It  may  seem  astonishing  at  first  that  a  single  vicinity  can  attain 
such  eminence,  and  especially  that  so  small  a  part  of  the  Union 
is  able  to  impress  its  character  on  the  whole  wide  land.  The 
phenomenon,  however,  becomes  almost  a  matter  of  course,  if 
we  put  before  ourselves  how  this  world-power  slowly  grew  from 
the  very  smallest  beginnings,  and  how  this  growth  did  not  take 
place  by  successive  increments  of  large  and  compact  masses  of 
people  who  had  their  own  culture  and  their  own  independent 


352  THE  AMERICANS 

spirit,  but  took  place  by  the  continual  immigration  of  wanderers 
who  were  detached  and  isolated,  and  who  joined  themselves  to 
that  which  was  already  here,  and  so  became  assimilated.  Then, 
as  soon  as  a  beginning  had  been  made,  and  in  a  certain  place 
a  specific  expression  had  been  given  to  intellectual  life,  this  way 
of  thinking  and  this  general  attitude  neccessarily  became  the  pre- 
vailing ones,  and  in  this  way  spread  abroad  farther  and  farther. 
If  in  the  seventeenth  century,  instead  of  the  little  New  England 
states,  the  Southern  colonies,  say,  had  developed  a  characteristic 
and  independent  intellectual  life,  then  by  the  same  process  of  con- 
stant assimilation  the  character  and  thought  of  Virginia  might  have 
impressed  itself  on  the  whole  nation  as  have  the  character  and 
thought  of  Massachusetts.  Yet  it  was  by  no  means  an  accident 
that  the  spirit  which  was  destined  to  be  most  vital  did  not  proceed 
from  the  pleasure-loving  Virginians,  but  rather  came  from  the 
severely  earnest  settlers  of  the  North. 

The  way  of  thinking  of  those  Northern  colonists  can  be  admi- 
rably characterized  by  a  single  word  —  they  were  Puritans.  The 
Puritan  spirit  influenced  the  inner  life  of  Boston  Bay  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  and  consequently  the  inner  life  of  the  whole 
country  down  to  our  time,  more  deeply  and  more  potently  than  any 
other  factor.  The  Puritanical  spirit  signifies  something  incompara- 
bly precious  —  it  is  much  more  admirable  than  its  detractors  dream 
of;  and  yet  at  the  same  time,  it  carries  with  it  its  decided  limita- 
tions. For  nearly  three  hundred  years  the  genius  of  America 
has  nourished  itself  on  these  virtues  and  has  suffered  by  these 
limitations.  That  which  the  Puritans  strove  for  was  just  what 
their  name  signifies  —  purity;  purity  in  the  service  of  God, 
purity  of  character,  and,  in  an  evil  time,  purity  of  life.  Filled 
with  the  religious  doctrines  of  Calvinism,  that  little  band  of 
wanderers  had  crossed  the  ocean  in  spite  of  the  severest  trials, 
in  order  to  find  free  scope  for  their  Puritan  ideals;  had  left  that 
same  England  where,  some  time  later  under  Cromwell,  they  were 
to  achieve  a  victory,  although  a  short  and  after  all  insignificant 
one.  They  much  more  cared  for  the  spotlessness  of  their  faith 
than  for  any  outward  victory,  and  every  impulse  of  their  devout 
and  simple  lives  was  informed  by  their  convictions.  Under  these 
circumstances  it  was  no  accident  that  here  the  intellectual  and 
moral  ideals  were  not  obscured  by  any  economic  or  political 


SELF-PERFECTION  353 

preoccupations;  but  from  the  very  outset  were  accounted  in  them- 
selves of  prime  importance.  Harvard  College  was  founded  as  a 
school  for  the  Puritan  clergy,  and  almost  the  entire  American 
literature,  which  is  to  say  the  literature  of  New  England,  of 
the  seventeenth  century  is  purely  religious,  or  at  any  rate  is 
thoroughly  permeated  with  the  Calvinistic  way  of  thought. 

Of  course,  externally  this  is  all  entirely  changed,  and  it  is 
almost  a  typical  example  of  this  transformation,  that  Harvard, 
once  a  seminary  for  ministers,  to-day  prepares  not  one-fiftieth 
part  of  its  five  thousand  students  for  the  clerical  calling.  Indeed, 
as  early  as  the  year  1700,  Yale  University  was  founded  in  Con- 
necticut, largely  in  the  aim  of  creating  a  fortress  for  the  old  faith, 
because  Harvard  had  become  too  much  a  place  of  free  thought; 
and  the  great  scholar  of  Harvard,  the  preacher  Jonathan  Edwards, 
went  away  from  Boston  in  anger  because  it  seemed  to  him,  even 
in  the  eighteenth  century,  that  the  old  Calvinistic  traditions  had 
been  lost.  And  then  finally,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  appeared 
Unitarianism  —  a  creed  which  became  the  most  energetic  enemy 
of  Calvinism.  These  changes  and  disruptions  were,  however, 
rather  an  internal  matter.  They  were  actually  nothing  but 
small  differences  within  the  Puritan  community.  From  the 
meagre  days  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  down  to  the  time  when 
Emerson  in  rhapsodic  flights  preached  the  ethical  idealism  of 
Fichte,  and  Longfellow  wrote  his  "  Psalm  of  Life,"  the  old 
Puritan  spirit  remained  predominant. 

One  fundamental  note  sounded  through  the  whole.  Life  was 
not  to  be  lived  for  the  sake  of  pleasure,  but  for  the  sake  of  duty. 
Existence  got  its  sense  and  value  only  in  ethical  endeavour;  self- 
perfection  was  the  great  duty  which  took  precedence  over  all 
others.  Among  the  particularly  dogmatic  tenets  of  the  Calvin- 
istic theology  this  self-searching  became,  in  the  last  resort,  perhaps 
a  somewhat  dispiriting  searching  after  inner  signs  by  which  God 
was  expected  to  show  somewhat  arbitrarily  his  favour.  More 
broadly  taken,  however,  it  signified  rather  a  continual  searching 
of  the  conscience  —  a  conscious  suppression  of  impure,  of  worldly, 
and  of  selfish  impulses;  and  so  in  effect  it  was  an  untiring  moral 
purification.  And  if  in  this  theological  atmosphere  it  appeared 
as  if  God  had  led  a  singularly  large  number  of  predestined 
spirits  together  into  the  New  England  colonies,  the  reason  was 


THE  AMERICANS 

obviously  this  —  that  in  such  a  community  of  earnest,  self-search- 
ing characters  a  moral  purity  developed  such  as  was  to  be  found 
nowhere  in  the  wild  turmoil  of  the  Old  World.  When  the  entire 
life  is  so  permeated  by  ethical  ideals,  there  indeed  the  nobler  part  of 
man's  nature  cannot  be  conquered  by  lower  instincts  or  by  the 
sordid  demands  of  every-day  life. 

Such  a  place  could  not  fail  to  be  a  favourable  environment  for 
any  intellectual  undertakings.  There  serious  books  were  more 
welcome  than  the  merely  amusing  ones  which  flourished  in  the 
rest  of  the  colonies.  In  New  England  more  was  done  for  edu- 
cation, the  development  of  law  and  the  service  of  God,  than  for 
any  outward  show  or  material  prosperity.  In  short,  the  life  of 
the  intellect  throve  there  from  the  very  outset.  And  yet  of  course 
this  spirit  of  culture  necessarily  took  a  turn  very  different  from 
what  it  had  been  in  the  mother  land,  different  from  what  it  was 
on  the  Continent,  and  different  from  what  it  would  have  been  if 
the  Southern  colonies  had  been  intellectually  dominant. 

For  the  Puritan,  absolutely  the  whole  of  culture  was  viewed 
from  the  moral  point  of  view.  But  the  moral  judgment  leads 
always  to  the  individual;  neither  in  the  physical  nor  in  the  psychical 
world  can  anything  be  found  which  has  an  ethical  value  except 
the  good  will  of  the  individual.  No  work  of  culture  has  any 
value  in  itself;  it  becomes  ethically  significant  only  in  its  relation 
to  the  individual  will,  and  all  intellectual  life  has  ethically  a  single 
aim  —  to  serve  the  highest  development  of  the  individual.  From 
this  point  of  view,  therefore,  science,  poetry,  and  art  have  no 
objective  value:  for  the  Puritan,  they  are  nothing  to  accept  and 
to  make  himself  subordinate  to;  but  they  are  themselves  subor- 
dinate means  merely  toward  that  one  end  —  the  perfection  of  the 
man.  Life  was  a  moral  problem,  for  which  art  and  science  became 
important  only  in  so  far  as  they  nourished  the  inner  growth  of 
every  aspirant.  In  the  language  of  the  newer  time  we  might 
say  that  a  community  developed  under  Puritan  influences  cared 
considerably  more  for  the  culture  of  its  individual  members  than 
for  the  creation  of  things  intellectual,  that  the  intellectual  worker 
did  not  set  out  to  perfect  art  and  science,  but  aimed  by  means  of 
art  and  science  to  perfect  himself. 

Of  course  there  must  be  some  reciprocal  working  between  the 
general  body  of  culture  and  the  separate  personalities,  but  the 


SELF-PERFECTION  355 

great  tendency  had  to  be  very  different  from  that  which  it  would 
have  been  had  the  chief  emphasis  been  laid  on  aesthetic  or  intel- 
lectual productions  as  such.  In  Europe  during  the  decisive 
periods  the  starting-point  has  been  and  to-day  is,  the  objective; 
and  this  has  only  secondarily  come  to  be  significant  for  the 
subjective  individual  life.  But  in  Puritan  America  the  soul's 
welfare  stood  in  the  foreground,  and  only  secondarily  was  the 
striving  for  self-perfection,  self-searching,  and  self-culture  made 
to  contribute  to  the  advance  of  objective  culture.  As  a  conse- 
quence individual  characters  have  had  to  be  markedly  fine  even 
at  a  time  in  which  all  creative  achievements  of  enduring  signifi- 
cance were  very  few.  Just  in  the  opposite  way  the  history  of 
the  culture  of  non-puritanical  Europe  has  shown  the  greatest 
creative  achievements  at  the  very  times  when  personal  morals 
were  at  their  lowest  ebb. 

But  the  spirit  of  self-perfection  can  have  still  an  entirely 
different  source.  In  ethical  idealism  the  perfection  of  person- 
ality is  its  own  end;  but  this  perfection  of  the  individual  may  also 
be  a  means  to  an  end,  an  instrument  for  bringing  about  the 
highest  possible  capacity  for  achievement  in  practical  life.  This 
is  the  logic  of  utilitarianism.  For  utilitarianism  as  well  as  for 
Puritan  idealism  the  growth  of  science  and  art,  and  the  develop- 
ment of  moral  institutions,  are  nothing  in  themselves,  but  are 
significant  only  as  they  work  backward  on  the  minds  of  the  in- 
dividuals. Idealism  demands  the  intellectual  life  for  the  sake 
of  the  individual  soul's  welfare,  utilitarianism  for  the  sake  of  the 
individual's  outward  success.  A  greater  antithesis  could  hardly  be 
thought  of;  and  nevertheless  the  desire  for  self-perfection  is  com- 
mon to  both,  and  for  both  the  increase  of  the  national  products 
of  culture  are  at  the  outset  indifferent.  It  is  clear  that  both  of 
these  tendencies  in  their  sociological  results  will  always  reach 
out  far  beyond  their  initial  aims.  Puritanism  and  utilitarian- 
ism, although  they  begin  with  the  individual,  nevertheless  must 
bear  their  fruits  in  the  whole  intellectual  status  of  the  nation. 
Ethical  idealism  aims  not  only  to  receive,  but  also  to  give.  To  be 
sure,  it  gives  especially  in  order  to  inspire  in  others  its  own  spirit 
of  self-perfection,  but  in  order  so  to  inspire  and  so  to  work  it  must 
give  expression  to  its  inner  ideals  by  the  creation  of  objects  of 
art  and  science.  Utilitarianism,  on  the  contrary,  must  early  set 


356  THE  AMERICANS 

such  a  premium  on  all  achievements  which  make  for  prosperity 
that  in  the  same  way  again  the  individual,  from  purely  utilitarian 
motives,  is  incited  to  bring  his  thought  to  a  creative  issue.  The 
intellectual  life  of  the  nation  which  is  informed  with  Puritan 
and  utilitarian  impulses,  will  therefore,  after  a  certain  period, 
advance  to  a  new  and  national  stage  of  culture;  but  the  highest 
achievements  will  be  made  partly  in  the  service  of  moral  ideals, 
partly  in  the  service  of  technical  culture.  As  the  result  of  the 
first  tendency,  history,  law,  literature,  philosophy,  and  religion 
will  come  to  their  flowering;  in  consequence  of  the  second  ten- 
dency, science  and  technique. 

In  modern  Continental  Europe,  both  these  tendencies  have  been 
rather  weakly  developed.  From  the  outset  idealism  has  had  an 
intellectual  and  aesthetic  bias.  Any  great  moral  earnestness  has 
been  merely  an  episode  in  the  thought  of  those  nations;  and  in  the 
same  way,  too,  utilitarianism  has  played  really  a  subordinate  role 
in  their  intellectual  life,  because  the  desire  for  free  initiative  has 
never  been  a  striking  feature  in  the  intellectual  physiognomy.  The 
love  of  truth,  the  enjoyment  of  beauty,  and  the  social  premiums 
for  all  who  minister  to  this  love  and  pleasure  have  been  in  Conti- 
nental Europe  more  potent  factors  in  the  national  intellectual  life 
than  either  ethical  idealism  or  practical  utilitarianism.  And  it  is 
only  because  of  its  steady  assimilation  of  all  European  immigrants 
that  the  Puritan  spirit  of  the  New  England  colonies  has  become 
the  fundamental  trait  of  the  country,  and  that  moral  earnestness 
has  not  been  a  mere  episode  also  in  the  life  of  America. 

There  is  no  further  proof  necessary  that,  along  with  idealism, 
utilitarianism  has  in  fact  been  an  efficient  factor  in  all  intellectual 
activities  of  America.  Indeed,  we  have  very  closely  traced  out 
how  deeply  the  desire  for  self-initiative  has  worked  on  the  popu- 
lation and  been  the  actual  spring  of  the  economic  life  of  all  classes. 
But  for  the  American  it  has  been  also  a  matter  of  course  that  the 
successful  results  of  initiative  presuppose,  in  addition  to  energy 
of  character,  technical  training  and  the  best  possible  liberal 
education.  Here  and  there,  to  be  sure,  there  appears  a  suc- 
cessful self-made  man  —  a  man  who  for  his  lack  of  making 
has  only  himself  to  thank  —  and  he  comes  forward  to  warn 
young  people  to  be  wary  of  the  higher  culture,  and  to  preach 
to  them  that  the  school  of  practical  life  is  the  sole  high-road 


SELF-PERFECTION  357 

to  success.  But  the  exemplary  organization  of  the  great  com- 
mercial corporations  is  itself  a  demonstration  against  any  such 
fallacious  paradoxes.  Precisely  there  the  person  with  the  best 
training  is  always  placed  at  the  head,  and  the  actual  results  of 
American  technique  would  be  still  undreamt  of  if  the  American 
had  preferred,  before  the  solid  intellectual  mastery  of  his  problems, 
really  nothing  but  energy  or  "dash"  or,  say,  mere  audacity.  The 
issues  which  really  seriously  interest  the  American  are  not  between 
the  adherents  of  culture  and  the  adherents  of  mere  push,  un- 
deterred by  any  culture;  the  material  value  of  the  highest  possible 
intellectual  culture  has  come  to  be  a  dogma.  The  real  issues 
are  mainly  even  to-day  those  between  the  Puritanical  and  util- 
itarian ideals  of  self-perfection.  Of  course  those  most  in  the  heat 
of  battle  are  not  aware  of  this;  and  yet  when  in  the  thousandfold 
discussions  the  question  comes  up  whether  the  higher  schools 
and  colleges  should  have  fixed  courses  of  instruction  for  the  sake 
of  imparting  a  uniform  and  general  culture,  or  whether  on  the 
other  hand  specialization  should  be  allowed  to  step  in  and  so  to 
advance  the  time  for  the  technical  training,  then  the  Puritans 
of  New  England  and  the  utilitarians  of  the  Middle  States  are 
ranged  against  each  other. 

In  fact,  it  is  the  Middle,  and  a  little  later  on  the  Western, 
States,  where  along  with  the  tremendous  development  of  the  in- 
stinct of  individual  initiative  the  pressure  for  the  utilitarian  ex- 
ploitation of  the  higher  intellectual  powers  has  been  most  lively. 
Also  this  side  of  the  American  spirit  has  not  sprung  up  to-day  nor 
yesterday;  and  its  influence  is  neither  an  immoral  nor  a  morally  in- 
different force.  Utilitarianism  has  decidedly  its  own  ethics.  It 
is  the  robust  ethics  of  the  Philistine,  with  its  rather  trivial  refer- 
ences to  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number  and  citations  of 
the  general  welfare.  Benjamin  Franklin,  for  instance,  preached 
no  mean  morality,  along  with  his  labours  for  politics  and  science; 
but  his  words,  "Honesty  is  the  best  policy,"  put  morality  on  a 
level  with  the  lightning-rod  which  he  invented.  Both  are  means 
toward  human  prosperity.  Although  born  and  bred  in  Boston, 
Franklin  did  not  feel  himself  at  home  there,  where  for  the  best 
people  life  was  thought  to  be  "a  trembling  walk  with  God."  For 
him  Philadelphia  was  a  more  congenial  field  of  activity.  To-day 
there  is  no  single  place  which  is  specially  noted  for  its  utilitarian 


358  THE  AMERICANS 

turn  of  mind.  It  is  rather  a  matter  of  general  dissemination,  for 
the  influence  of  the  entire  Western  population  goes  in  this  direc- 
tion. But  no  one  should  for  a  moment  imagine  that  this  utilitarian 
movement  has  overcome  or  destroyed  the  Puritan  spirit.  The 
actual  state  of  the  national  culture  can  be  understood  only  as  a 
working  together  of  these  two  types  of  the  spirit  of  self-perfection ; 
and  even  to-day,  the  Puritan  spirit  is  the  stronger  —  the  spirit  of 
New  England  is  in  the  lead. 

All  that  we  have  so  far  spoken  of  relates  to  that  which  is 
distinctly  of  national  origin;  over  and  above  this  there  is  much 
which  the  American  has  adopted  from  other  nations.  The  most 
diverse  factors  work  to  make  this  importation  from  foreign  thought 
more  easy.  The  wealth  and  the  fondness  for  travel  of  the  Ameri- 
can, his  craze  for  collections,  and  his  desire  to  have  in  everything 
the  best — this  in  addition  to  the  uninterrupted  stream  of  immi- 
gration and  much  else  —  have  all  brought  it  about  that  anything 
which  is  foreign  is  only  too  quickly  adopted  in  the  national  culture. 
Not  until  very  lately  has  a  more  or  less  conscious  reaction  against 
this  sort  of  thing  stepped  in,  partly  through  the  increased  strength- 
ening of  the  national  consciousness,  but  more  specially  through 
the  surprisingly  quick  rise  of  native  achievement.  The  time  for 
imitation  in  architecture  has  gone  by  and  the  prestige  of  the  Eng- 
lish romance  is  at  an  end.  And  yet  to-day  English  literature, 
French  art,  and  German  music  still  exercise  here  their  due  and 
potent  influence. 

Now,  in  addition  to  these  influences  which  spring  from  the  cul- 
ture of  foreign  nations,  come  finally  those  impulses  which  are  not 
peculiar  to  any  one  nation,  but  spring  up  in  every  country  out  of 
the  lower  instincts  and  pleasures.  Everywhere  in  the  world  mere 
love  of  diversion  tries  to  step  in  and  to  usurp  the  place  of  aesthetic 
pleasure.  Everywhere  curiosity  and  sensational  abandon  are 
apt  to  undermine  purely  logical  interests,  and  everywhere  a  mere 
excitability  tries  to  assume  the  role  of  moral  ardour.  Everywhere 
the  weak  and  trivial  moral,  aesthetic,  and  intellectual  appeals  of 
the  variety  stage  may  come  to  be  preferred  over  the  serious  appeals 
of  the  drama.  It  is  said  that  this  tendency,  which  was  always 
deeply  rooted  in  man's  nature,  is  felt  more  noticeably  in  our  ner- 
vous and  excitable  times  than  it  was  in  the  old  days.  In  a  similar 
way  one  may  say  that  it  shows  out  still  stronger  in  America 


SELF-PERFECTION  359 

than  it  does  in  other  countries.  The  reason  for  this  is  clear.  Polit- 
ical democracy  is  responsible  for  part  of  it;  for  in  the  name  of  that 
equality  which  it  postulates,  it  instinctively  lends  more  counte- 
nance to  the  aesthetic  tastes,  the  judgment,  and  the  moral  inspi- 
ration of  the  butcher,  the  baker  and  candlestick-maker  than  is 
really  desirable  if  one  has  at  heart  the  development  of  absolute 
culture.  Perhaps  an  even  more  important  factor  is  the  purely 
economic  circumstance  that  in  America  the  masses  possess  a 
greater  purchasing  power  than  in  any  other  country,  and  for  this 
reason  are  able  to  exert  a  more  immediate  influence  on  the  intel- 
lectual life  of  the  land.  The  great  public  is  not  more  trivial  in  the 
United  States  than  elsewhere;  it  is  rather,  as  in  every  democracy, 
more  mature  and  self-contained;  but  in  America  this  great  public 
is  more  than  elsewhere  in  the  material  position  to  buy  great  news- 
papers, and  to  support  theatres;  and  is  thus  able  to  exert  a  degrad- 
ing influence  on  the  intellectual  level  of  both  newspaper  and 
theatre. 

In  this  way,  then,  the  tendency  of  the  lower  classes  toward 
those  things  which  are  trivial  may  sometimes  conceal  the  fine 
traits  in  the  picture  of  the  national  intellectual  life;  just  as  the 
readiness  for  imitation  may,  for  a  time,  bring  in  many  a  foreign 
trait.  But  nevertheless,  there  is  in  fact  a  clearly  recognizable, 
a  free  and  independent  intellectual  life,  which  everywhere  reveals 
the  opposition  or  the  balance  between  Puritanism  and  utilitarian- 
ism, and  which  is  everywhere  dominated  by  that  single  wish  which 
is  common  both  to  Puritans  and  to  utilitarians  —  the  desire  for 
the  best  possible  development  of  the  individual,  the  desire  for 
self-perfection. 

Since,  however,  it  remains  a  somewhat  artificial  abstraction  to 
pick  out  a  single  trait  —  even  if  that  is  the  most  typical  —  from 
the  intellectual  make-up  of  the  nation,  so  of  course  it  is  under- 
stood from  the  outset  that  all  the  other  peculiarities  of  the  Ameri- 
can work  together  with  this  one  to  colour  and  shape  his  real  intel- 
lectual life.  Everywhere,  for  instance,  one  notes  the  easily  kindled 
enthusiasm  of  the  American  and  his  inexhaustible  versatility,  his 
religious  temperament  and  his  strongly  marked  feeling  of  deco- 
rum, his  lively  sense  of  justice  and  his  energy,  and  perhaps  most  of 
all  his  whimsical  humour.  Each  one  of  these  admirable  traits  in- 
volves some  corresponding  failing.  It  is  natural  that  impetuous  en- 


360  THE  AMERICANS 

thusiasm  should  not  make  for  that  dogged  persistence  which  so 
often  has  brought  victory  to  various  German  intellectual  move- 
ments; so,  too,  a  nice  feeling  for  form  grows  easily  impatient  when 
it  is  a  question  of  intellectual  work  requiring  a  broad  and  somewhat 
careless  handling.  Devotion  to  the  supersensuous  is  inclined  to 
lead  to  superstition  and  mysticism,  while  a  too  sensitive  feeling 
for  fair  play  may  develop  into  hysterical  sympathy  for  that  which 
is  merely  puny;  versatility,  as  is  well  known,  is  only  too  apt  to  come 
out  in  fickle  dilettante  activities,  and  the  humour  that  bobs  up 
at  every  moment  destroys  easily  enough  the  dignity  of  the  most 
serious  occasion.  And  yet  all  this,  whether  good  or  bad,  is  a 
secondary  matter.  The  spirit  of  self-perfection  remains  the  cen- 
tral point,  and  it  must  be  always  from  this  point  that  we  survey 
the  whole  field. 

A  social  community  which  believes  its  chief  duty  to  be  the 
highest  perfection  of  the  individual  will  direct  its  main  attentions  to 
the  church  and  the  school.  The  church  life  in  America  is,  for  polit- 
ical reasons,  almost  entirely  separated  from  the  influence  of  the 
state;  but  the  force  with  which  every  person  is  drawn  into  some 
church  circle  has  not  for  this  reason  lost,  but  rather  gained, 
strength.  The  whole  social  machine  is  devised  in  the  interests  of 
religion,  and  the  impatience  of  the  sects  and  churches  against  one 
another  is  slight  indeed  as  compared  with  the  intolerance  of  the 
churches  as  a  whole  against  irreligion.  The  boundaries  are  drawn 
as  widely  as  possible,  so  that  ethical  culture  or  even  Christian 
Science  may  be  included  under  the  head  of  religion;  but  countless 
purely  social  influences  make  strongly  toward  bringing  the  spirit 
of  worship  in  some  wise  into  every  man's  life,  so  that  an  hour  of 
consecration  precedes  the  week  of  work,  and  every  one  in  the  midst 
of  his  earthly  turmoil  heeds  the  thought  of  eternity,  in  whatever 
way  he  will.  And  these  social  means  are  even  stronger  than  any 
political  ones  could  be. 

There  is  very  much  which  contributes  to  deepen  the  religious 
feeling  of  the  people  and  to  increase  the  efficiency  of  the  churches. 
The  very  numerousness  of  the  different  sects  is  not  the  least  factor 
in  this  direction,  for  it  allows  every  individual  conscience  to  find 
somewhere  its  peculiar  religious  satisfaction.  An  additional 
impulse  is  the  high  position  which  woman  occupies,  for  she  is  more 
religiously  endowed  than  mail.  And  yet  another  factor  is  the 


SELF-PERFECTION  361 

many  social  functions  which  the  churches  have  taken  on  them- 
selves. In  this  last  there  is  much  that  may  seem  to  the  stranger 
too  secular:  the  church  which  is  at  the  same  time  a  club,  a  circu- 
lating library,  and  a  place  to  lounge  in,  seems  at  first  sight  to  lose 
something  of  its  dignity;  but  just  because  it  has  woven  itself  in  by 
such  countless  threads  to  the  web  of  daily  life,  it  has  come-to  pass 
that  no  part  of  the  social  fabric  is  quite  independent  of  it.  Of 
course  the  external  appearance  of  a  large  city  does  not  strongly 
indicate  this  state  of  things;  but  the  town  and  country  on  the  other 
hand  give  evidence  of  the  strong  religious  tendency  of  the  popu- 
lation, even  to  the  superficial  observer;  and  he  will  not  understand 
the  Americans  if  he  leaves  out  of  account  their  religious  inward- 
ness. The  influence  of  religion  is  the  only  one  which  is  stronger 
than  that  of  politics  itself,  and  the  accomplished  professional  poli- 
ticians are  sharp  to  guide  their  party  away  from  any  dangerous 
competition  with  that  factor. 

The  church  owes  its  power  more  or  less  to  the  unconscious  senti- 
ments in  the  soul  of  the  people,  whereas  the  high  position  and  sup- 
port of  the  public  school  is  the  one  end  toward  which  the  conscious 
volition  of  the  entire  nation  is  bent  with  firmest  determination. 
One  must  picture  to  one's  self  the  huge  extent  of  the  thinly  popu- 
lated country,  the  incomparable  diversity  of  the  population  which 
has  come  in,  bringing  many  differences  of  race  and  language,  and 
finally  the  outlay  of  strength  which  has  been  necessary  to  open  up 
the  soil  to  cultivation,  in  order  to  have  an  idea  of  what  huge  labours 
it  has  taken  to  plant  the  land  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  with 
a  thick  sowing  of  schools.  The  desire  for  the  best  possible  school 
system  is  for  the  American  actually  more  than  a  social  duty  —  it  has 
become  a  passion;  and  although  here  and  there  it  may  have  gone 
astray,  it  has  never  been  afraid  of  any  difficulty. 

The  European  who  is  accustomed  to  see  the  question  of  edu- 
cation left  to  the  government  can  hardly  realize  with  what  intensity 
this  entire  population  participates  in  the  solution  of  theoretical 
problems  and  in  the  overcoming  of  practical  difficulties.  No 
weekly  paper  or  magazine  and  no  lecture  programme  of  any  asso- 
ciation of  thinking  men  could  be  found  in  which  questions  of 
nurture  and  education  are  not  treated.  Pedagogical  publications 
are  innumerable,  and  the  number  of  those  who  are  technically 
informed  is  nearly  identical  with  the  number  of  those  who  have 


362  THE  AMERICANS 

brought  up  children.  The  discussions  in  Germany  over,  we  may 
say,  high  schools  and  technical  schools,  over  modern  and  ancient 
languages,  or  the  higher  education  of  women,  interest  a  relatively 
small  circle  as  compared  with  similar  discussions  in  America.  The 
mere  fact  that  this  effort  toward  the  best  school  instruction  has  so 
deeply  taken  hold  of  all  classes  of  society,  and  that  it  leads  all  parties 
and  sects  and  all  parts  of  the  country  to  a  united  and  self-conscious 
struggle  forward  is  in  itself  of  the  highest  value  for  the  education 
of  the  whole  people. 

In  the  broad  basis  of  the  public  school  is  built  a  great  system 
of  higher  instruction,  and  the  European  does  not  easily  find 
the  right  point  of  view  from  which  to  take  this.  The  hundreds  of 
colleges,  universities,  professional  schools,  and  polytechnics  seem  to 
the  casual  observer  very  often  like  a  merely  heterogeneous  and 
disordered  collection  of  separate  institutions,  because  there  seems 
to  be  no  common  standard,  no  general  level,  no  common  point 
of  view,  and  no  common  end;  in  short,  there  seems  to  be  no 
system.  And  nevertheless,  there  is  at  the  bottom  of  it  all  an 
excellent  system.  It  is  here  that  one  finds  the  most  elaborate  and 
astonishing  achievement  of  the  American  spirit,  held  together  in 
one  system  by  the  principle  of  imperceptible  gradations;  and  no 
other  organization,  specially  no  mere  imitation  of  foreign  examples, 
could  so  completely  bring  to  expression  the  American  desire  for 
self-perfection. 

The  topics  of  school  and  university  would  not  make  up 
one-half  of  the  history  of  American  popular  education.  In  no 
other  country  of  the  world  is  the  nation  so  much  and  so  system- 
atically instructed  outside  of  the  school  as  in  America,  and  the 
thousand  forms  in  which  popular  education  is  provided  for  those 
who  have  grown  beyond  the  schools,  are  once  more  a  lively  testi- 
mony to  the  tireless  instinct  for  personal  perfection.  Evening 
schools,  summer  schools,  university  extension  courses,  lecture 
institutes,  society  classes,  and  debating  clubs,  all  work  together 
to  that  end;  and  to  omit  these  would  be  to  give  no  true  history  of 
American  culture.  The  back-ground  of  all  this,  however,  is  the 
great  national  stock  of  public  library  books,  from  which  even  the 
poorest  person  can  find  the  best  books  and  study  them  amid  the 
most  delightful  surroundings. 

The  popular  educational  libraries,  together  with  the  amazingfy 


SELF-PERFECTION  363 

profuse  newspaper  and  magazine  literature,  succeed  in  reaching 
the  whole  people;  and,  in  turn,  these  institutions  would  not  have 
become  so  large  as  they  are  if  the  people  themselves  had  not  pos- 
sessed a  strong  desire  for  improvement.  This  thirst  for  reading 
is  again  nothing  new;  for  Hopkinson,  who  was  acquainted  with 
both  England  and  America  in  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, reported  with  surprise  the  difference  in  this  respect  between 
the  two  countries.  And  since  that  time  the  development  has  gone 
on  and  on  until  to-day  the  magazines  are  printed  by  the  hundreds 
of  thousands,  and  historical  romances  in  editions  of  half  a  million 
copies;  while  public  libraries  exist  not  only  in  every  small  city,  but 
even  in  the  villages,  and  those  in  the  large  cities  are  housed  in  build- 
ings which  are  truly  monuments  of  architecture.  As  the  influence 
of  books  has  grown,  the  native  literature  has  increased  and  the  arts 
of  modelling  and  sculpture  have  come  forward  at  an  equal  pace, 
as  means  of  popular  culture.  Museums  have  arisen,  orchestras 
been  established,  the  theatre  developed,  and  an  intellectual  life 
has  sprung  up  which  is  ready  to  measure  itself  against  the  best 
that  European  culture  has  produced.  But  the  real  foundation 
of  this  is  even  to-day  not  the  creative  genius,  but  the  average 
citizen,  in  his  striving  after  self-perfection  and  culture. 

Once  every  year  the  American  people  go  through  a  period  of 
formal  meditation  and  moral  reflection.  In  the  month  of  June 
all  the  schools  close.  Colleges  and  universities  shut  their  doors 
for  the  long  summer  vacation;  and  then,  at  the  end  of  the  year 
of  study,  according  to  an  old  American  custom,  some  serious 
message  is  delivered  to  those  who  are  about  to  leave  the  institutions. 
To  make  such  a  farewell  speech  is  accounted  an  honour,  de- 
pending, of  course,  on  the  rank  of  the  institution,  and  the  best  men 
in  the  country  are  glad  to  be  asked.  Thus  it  happens  that,  in  the 
few  weeks  of  June,  hundreds  of  the  leading  men  —  scholars,  states- 
men, novelists,  reformers,  politicians,  officials,  and  philanthro- 
pists —  vie  with  one  another  in  impressing  on  the  youth  the  best, 
deepest,  and  most  inspiring  sentiments;  and  since  these  speeches 
are  copied  in  the  newspapers  and  magazines,  they  are  virtually  said 
to  the  whole  people.  The  more  important  utterances  generally 
arouse  discussions  in  the  columns  of  the  newspapers,  and  so  the 
month  of  June  comes  to  be  a  time  of  reflection  and  meditation,  and 
of  a  certain  refreshment  of  inspiration  and  a  revival  of  moral 


364  THE  AMERICANS 

strength.  Now,  if  one  looks  over  these  speeches,  one  sees  that  they 
generally  are  concerned  with  one  of  two  great  themes.  Some  of 
them  appeal  to  the  youth,  saying;  Learn  and  cultivate  yourselves, 
for  this  is  the  only  way  in  which  you  will  arrive  at  becoming  useful 
members  of  society:  while  the  others  urge;  Cultivate  yourselves, 
for  there  is  in  life  nothing  more  precious  than  a  full  and  harmoni- 
ous development  of  the  soul.  The  latter  sentiment  is  that  of  the 
Puritan,  while  the  former  is  that  of  the  utilitarian.  And  yet  the 
individualistic  tendency  is  in  both  cases  the  same.  In  both  cases 
youth  is  urged  to  find  its  goal  in  the  perfection  of  the  individual. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

The  Schools  and  Popular  Education 

THE  Dutch  population  of  New  Amsterdam  started  a  school 
system  in  the  year  1621.  The  first  public  Latin  school 
was  founded  in  Boston  in  the  year  1635.  The  °tner  col- 
onies soon  followed.  Clearly  the  English  governor  of  Virginia, 
Berkeley,  had  not  quite  grasped  the  spirit  of  the  New  World,  when 
at  about  that  time  he  wrote  home,  that,  thank  God,  no  public 
schools  and  no  printing-press  existed  here,  and  when  he  added  his 
hope  that  they  would  not  be  introduced  for  a  hundred  years, 
since  learning  brings  irreligion  and  disobedience  into  the  world,  and 
the  printng-press  disseminates  them  and  fights  against  the  best 
intentions  of  the  government.  For  that  matter  it  was  precisely 
Virginia  which  was  the  first  colony,  even  before  Boston  and  New 
York,  to  consider  the  question  of  education.  As  early  as  1619  the 
treasurer  of  the  Virginia  Company  had  proposed,  in  the  English 
Parliament,  that  15,000  acres  of  land  should  be  set  aside  in  the 
interests  of  a  school  for  higher  education.  The  English  churches 
became  interested  in  the  plan,  and  an  abundant  supply  of  money 
was  got  together.  Ground  and  buildings  had  been  procured  for 
lower  and  higher  instruction  and  all  was  in  working  order,  when 
in  1622  the  fearful  Indian  war  upset  everything.  The  buildings 
were  destroyed,  and  all  thought  of  public  education  was  for  a  long 
time  given  up.  This  is  how  that  condition  came  about  which  so 
well  pleased  Governor  Berkeley.  But  this  mishap  to  the  Virginia 
colony  shows  at  once  how  the  American  system  of  education  has 
not  been  able  to  progress  in  any  systematic  way,  but  has  suffered 
frequent  reverses  through  war  or  political  disturbance.  And  it  has 
developed  in  the  different  parts  of  the  country  at  a  very  different 
pace,  sometimes  even  in  quite  different  directions.  It  was  not  until 
after  the  Civil  War  —  that  is,  within  the  last  thirty  years  —  that 


366  THE  AMERICANS 

these  differences  have  to  a  large  extent  been  wiped  out.  It  is 
only  to-day  that  one  can  speak  of  a  general  American  system. 
The  outsider  will,  therefore,  come  to  a  better  understanding  of  the 
American  educational  system  if  he  begins  his  study  with  condi- 
tions as  they  are  to-day,  for  they  are  more  unified  and  therefore 
easier  to  understand,  than  if  he  were  to  try  to  understand  how  the 
present  has  historically  come  from  the  complicated  and  rather 
uninteresting  past. 

So  we  shall  not  ask  how  the  educational  system  has  developed, 
but  rather  what  it  is  to-day  and  what  it  aims  to  be.  Even  the 
present-day  conditions  may  easily  lead  a  German  into  some  con- 
fusion, because  he  is  naturally  inclined  to  compare  them  with  the 
conditions  at  home,  and  such  a  comparison  is  not  always  easy. 
Therefore,  we  must  picture  to  ourselves  first  of  all  the  fundamental 
points  in  the  system,  and  describe  its  principal  variations  from  the 
conditions  in  Germany.  A  few  broad  strokes  will  suffice  for  a 
first  inspection. 

The  unit  of  the  system  in  its  completest  form  is  a  four  years' 
course  of  instruction.  For  the  easier  survey  we  may  think  of  a 
boundary  drawn  at  what  in  Germany  would  be  between  the  Ober- 
sekunda  and  Prima  of  a  Gymnasium  or  Realschule.  Now,  three 
such  units  of  the  system  lie  before  and  two  after  this  line  of  demar- 
cation. The  son  of  a  well-to-do  family,  who  is  to  study  medicine 
in  Harvard  University,  will  probably  reach  this  line  of  demarcation 
in  his  eighteenth  year.  If  he  is  advanced  according  to  the  norii.al 
scheme  he  will  have  entered  a  primary  school  at  six  years  of  age, 
the  grammar  school  at  ten,  and  the  high  school  at  fourteen.  Thus 
he  will  complete  a  twelve  years'  course  in  the  public  schools.  Now 
he  crosses  our  line  of  demarcation  in  his  eighteenth  year  and  enters 
college.  And  as  soon  as  he  has  finished  his  four  years'  course  in 
college  he  begins  his  medical  studies  in  the  university,  and  he  is 
twenty-six  years  old  when  he  has  finished.  If  we  count  in  two 
years  of  early  preparation  in  the  kindergarten,  we  shall  see  that 
the  whole  scheme  of  education  involves  twenty-two  years  of  study. 
Now,  it  is  indeed  possible  that  our  young  medical  student  will 
have  progressed  somewhat  more  rapidly;  perhaps  he  will  have 
reached  the  high  school  after  six  instead  of  eight  years  of  study; 
perhaps  he  will  finish  his  college  course  in  three  years,  and  it  may 
be  that  he  will  never  have  gone  to  kindergarten.  But  we  have  at 


THE  SCHOOLS  367 

first  to  concern  ourselves  with  the  complete  plan  of  education, 
not  with  the  various  changes  and  abbreviations  of  it,  which  are 
very  properly  allowed  and  even  favoured. 

The  line  which  we  call  the  great  boundary  is  the  time  when  the 
lad  enters  college.  Now,  what  is  the  great  significance  of  this 
moment  ?  The  German,  who  thinks  in  terms  of  Gymnasium 
and  Universitat,  is  almost  sure  to  fall  into  a  misapprehension;  for 
college  is  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  So  far  as  the  studies 
themselves  go,  it  coincides  rather  well  with  the  Prima  of  the  Gym- 
nasium and  the  first  two  or  three  semesters  in  the  philosophical 
faculty  of  the  German  university.  And  yet  even  this  by  no 
means  tells  one  what  a  college  really  is.  Above  all,  it  does  not 
explain  why  the  American  makes  the  chief  division  at  the  time 
of  entering  college,  while  the  German  makes  it  when  he  enters 
the  medical  or  law  school.  This  needs  to  be  explained  most 
clearly,  because  very  important  factors  are  here  involved,  which 
bear  on  the  future  of  American  civilization.  And  so  we  must 
give  especial  attention  to  college  and  the  professional  schools. 
But  that  discussion  is  to  be  reserved  for  the  chapter  on  the 
universities.  For  the  present,  we  have  only  to  deal  with  the  sys- 
tem of  instruction  in  those  schools  which  prepare  for  college. 

And  so,  leaving  the  kindergarten  out  of  the  question,  we  shall 
deal  with  those  three  institutions  which  we  have  called  primary, 
grammar,  and  high  schools.  Usually,  the  first  two  of  these  are 
classed  together  as  one  eight  years'  course  of  training.  The 
European  will  be  struck  at  once  that  in  this  system  there  is  only 
one  normal  plan  of  public  education.  The  future  merchant,  who 
goes  to  the  high  school  and  ends  his  studies  in  the  eighteenth 
year,  has  to  follow  the  same  course  of  study  in  the  primary  and 
grammar  schools  as  the  peasant  and  labourer  who  studies  only 
until  his  fourteenth  year,  and  then  leaves  school  to  work  in  the 
field  or  the  factory.  And  this  young  merchant,  although  he 
goes  into  business  when  he  is  eighteen  years  old,  pursues  exactly 
the  same  studies  as  the  student  who  is  later  to  go  to  college  and 
the  university.  Now  in  fact,  in  just  this  connection  the  actual  con- 
ditions are  admirably  adapted  to  the  most  diverse  requirements; 
the  public  schools  find  an  admirable  complement  in  private 
schools;  and,  more  than  that,  certain  very  complicated  differentia- 
tions have  been  brought  about  within  the  single  school,  in  order 


168  THE  AMERICANS 

to  overcome  the  most  serious  defects  of  this  uniformity.  Never- 
theless, the  principle  remains;  the  system  is  uniform,  and  the 
American  himself  finds  therein  its  chief  merit. 

The  motive  for  this  is  clear.  Every  one,  even  the  most  humble, 
should  find  his  way  open;  every  one  must  be  able  to  press  on 
as  far  as  his  own  intelligence  permits;  in  other  words  —  words 
which  the  American  pedagogue  is  very  fond  of  uttering  —  the 
public  school  is  to  make  the  spirit  of  caste  impossible.  It  is  to 
wipe  out  the  boundaries  between  the  different  classes  of  society, 
and  it  is  to  see  to  it,  that  if  the  farmer's  lad  of  some  remote  village 
feels  within  himself  some  higher  aspiration,  and  wants  to  go 
beyond  the  grammar  school  to  the  high  school  and  even  to  college, 
he  shall  find  no  obstacle  in  his  way.  His  advance  must  not  be 
impeded  by  his  suddenly  finding  that  his  entrance  into  the  high 
school  would  need  some  different  sort  of  previous  training. 

This  general  intermingling  of  the  classes  of  society  is  thought  to 
be  the  panacea  of  democracy.  The  younger  generations  are  to  be 
removed  from  all  those  influences  which  keep  their  parents  apart, 
and  out  of  all  the  classes  of  society  the  sturdiest  youth  are  to  be 
free  of  all  prejudice  and  free  to  rise  to  the  highest  positions.  Only 
in  this  wise  can  new  sound  blood  flow  through  the  social  organism; 
only  so  can  the  great  evils  incident  to  the  formation  of  castes  which 
have  hindered  old  Europe  in  its  mighty  progress  be  from  the  very 
outset  avoided.  The  classic  myth  relates  of  the  hero  who  gained 
his  strength  because  he  kissed  the  earth.  In  this  way  the  Ameri- 
can people  believe  that  they  will  become  strong  only  by  returning 
with  every  fresh  generation  to  the  soil,  and  if  the  German  Gym- 
nasia were  a  hundred  times  better  than  they  are,  and  if  they  were 
able  to  prepare  a  boy  from  early  childhood  for  the  highest  intel- 
lectual accomplishment,  America  would  still  find  them  unsuited 
to  her  needs,  because  from  the  outset  they  are  designed  for  only 
a  small  portion  of  the  people,  and  for  this  reason  they  make  it 
almost  impossible  for  the  great  mass  of  boys  to  proceed  to  the 
universities  from  the  ordinary  public  schools. 

All  of  this  is  the  traditional  confession  of  belief  of  the  pedagogue 
of  the  New  World.  But  now  since  America,  in  the  most  recent 
times,  has  nevertheless  begun  to  grow  in  its  social  structure  con- 
siderably more  like  antiquated  Europe,  and  sees  itself  less  and 
less  able  to  overcome  the  tendencies  to  a  spirit  of  caste,  so  a  sort 


THE  SCHOOLS  369 

of  mild  compromise  has  been  made  between  the  democratic 
creed  and  aristocratic  tendencies,  especially  in  the  large  cities  of 
the  East.  Nevertheless,  any  one  who  keeps  his  eyes  open  will 
admit  that,  so  far  as  the  public  school  goes,  intellectual  self- 
perfection  is  in  every  way  favoured,  so  that  every  single  child  of 
the  people  may  rise  as  high  as  he  will.  Grammar  school  leads  to 
the  high  school,  and  the  high  school  leads  to  college. 

There  is  another  factor  which  is  closely  related  to  the  foregoing. 
Education  is  free  and  obligatory.  In  olden  times  there  was  more 
the  tendency  for  the  parents  of  the  children,  rather  than  for  the 
general  taxpayer,  to  pay  for  the  maintenance  of  the  schools.  In- 
deed, there  were  times  in  which  the  remission  of  the  special  school 
tax  was  considered  almost  an  act  of  charity,  which  only  the  poorest 
of  the  parents  would  accept.  But  now  it  is  quite  different.  The 
school  system  knows  no  difference  between  rich  and  poor,  and  it  is 
a  fundamental  principle  that  the  support  of  the  schools  is  a  matter 
for  the  whole  community.  The  only  question  is  in  regard  to 
the  high  school,  since  after  all  only  a  small  percentage  of  school 
children  comes  as  far  as  the  high  school;  and  it  is  unjust,  some  say, 
to  burden  the  general  taxpayer  with  the  expenses  of  such  school. 

Nevertheless,  on  this  point  the  opinions  of  those  have  won 
who  conceive  that  it  is  the  duty  of  the  community  to  nurture  any 
effort  toward  self-culture,  even  in  the  poorest  child.  The  chief 
motive  in  olden  times,  wherefore  the  expenses  of  the  schools  were 
paid  by  all,  was  that  the  school  was  leading  toward  religion;  to- 
day the  official  motive  for  the  application  of  taxes  to  the  main- 
tenance of  schools  is  the  conviction  that  only  an  educated  and 
cultivated  people  can  rule  itself.  The  right  to  vote,  it  is  said, 
presupposes  the  right  to  an  education  by  means  of  which  every 
citizen  becomes  able  to  read  the  papers  of  the  day  and  to  form 
his  own  independent  opinion  on  public  matters.  But  since  every 
public  school  is  open  also  to  the  daughters  of  the  citizens  who 
possibly  want  the  right  to  vote,  but  do  not  so  far  have  it,  it  becomes 
clear  that  the  above-mentioned  political  motive  is  not  the  whole 
of  the  matter.  It  is  enough  for  technical  discussions  of  taxation, 
but  what  the  community  is  really  working  for  is  the  greatest 
possible  number  of  the  most  highly  educated  individuals.  Free 
instruction  is  further  supplemented  in  various  states  —  as,  for  in- 
stance, in  Massachusetts  —  by  supplying  text-books  gratis.  Some 


37o  THE  AMERICANS 

other  states  go  so  far  as  to  supply  the  needy  children  with  clothing. 
The  obligatory  character  of  education  goes  with  the  fact  that  it 
is  free.  In  this  respect,  too,  the  laws  of  different  states  are  widely 
divergent.  Some  require  seven,  others  eight,  still  others  even 
nine  years,  of  school  training.  And  the  school  year  itself  is  fixed 
differently  in  different  states. 

These  differences  between  the  states  point  at  once  to  a  further 
fact  which  has  been  characteristic  of  the  American  school  system 
from  the  very  beginning.  Responsibility  for  the  schools  rests  at 
the  periphery;  and  in  extremely  happy  fashion  the  authority  is  so 
divided  that  all  variations,  wherever  they  occur,  are  adaptations 
to  local  conditions;  and  nevertheless  unity  is  preserved.  A  labile 
equilibrium  of  the  various  administrative  factors  is  brought  about 
by  harmonious  distribution  of  the  authority,  and  this  is,  in  all 
departments  of  public  life,  the  peculiar  faculty  of  the  Americans. 

The  federal  government,  as  such,  has  no  direct  influence  on 
education.  The  tirelessly  active  Bureau  of  Education  at  Wash- 
ington, which  is  under  the  direction  of  the  admirable  peda- 
gogue, Mr.  Harris,  is  essentially  a  bureau  for  advice  and  infor- 
mation and  for  the  taking  of  statistics.  The  legal  ordinances 
pertaining  to  school  systems  is  a  matter  for  the  individual  state, 
and  the  state  again  leaves  it  to  the  individual  community,  within 
certain  limits  of  course  and  under  state  supervision,  to  build 
schools  and  to  organize  them,  to  choose  their  teachers,  their  plans 
of  education,  and  their  school-books.  And  at  every  point  here, 
exactly  as  in  the  striking  example  of  the  federal  Constitution,  the 
responsibility  is  divided  between  the  legislative  and  the  executive 
bodies.  The  state  inspector  of  schools  is  co-ordinate  with  the  state 
legislature,  and  the  school  inspector  of  a  city  or  a  country  district, 
who  is  elected  now  by  the  mayor,  now  by  the  council,  now  perhaps 
directly  by  the  community,  is  a  sort  of  technical  specialist  with 
considerable  discretionary  power;  he  is  co-ordinated  to  the  school 
committee,  which  is  elected  by  the  community,  and  which  directs 
the  expenditures  and  confirms  all  appointments. 

The  responsibility  for  the  moral  and  intellectual  standards, 
for  the  practical  conditions,  and  for  the  financial  liabilities  incurred 
by  every  school,  rests  therefore  immediately  with  the  community, 
which  has  to  pay  for  their  support,  and  whose  children  are  to 
derive  advantage.  And  nevertheless,  the  general  oversight  of  the 


THE  SCHOOLS  371 

state  sees  to  it  that  neither  whimsicality  nor  carelessness  abuses 
this  right,  nor  departs  too  widely  from  approved  traditions.  These 
authorities  are  further  supplemented  in  that  the  state  legislature 
is  more  or  less  able  to  make  up  for  differences  between  rich  and 
poor  districts  and  between  the  city  and  the  country,  besides 
directly  carrying  on  certain  normal  schools  in  which  the  teachers 
for  the  elementary  and  grammar  schools  are  trained. 

Very  great  and  very  diverse  advantages  are  the  immediate 
outcome  of  this  administrative  system.  Firstly,  an  interest  in 
the  well-being  of  the  schools  is  developed  in  every  state,  city,  and 
town,  and  the  spirit  of  self-perfection  is  united  with  the  spirit  of 
self-determination.  Secondly,  there  is  a  good  deal  of  free  play 
for  local  differences  —  differences  between  states  and  differences 
within  the  state.  Nothing  would  have  been  more  unsuitable 
than  in  this  whole  tremendous  territory  to  institute  a  rigidly  fixed 
school  system,  as  say  by  some  federal  laws  or  some  inter-state 
agreements.  If  there  were  the  same  educational  provisions  for 
the  negro  states"  of  the  South  and  for  the  Yankee  states  of  New 
England,  for  the  thickly  settled  regions  of  the  East  and  the  prairies 
of  the  West,  these  provisions  would  be  either  empty  words  or  else 
they  would  tend  to  drag  down  the  more  highly  educated  parts  of 
the  country  to  the  level  of  the  lowest  districts.  The  German 
who  objects  to  this  on  the  ground  of  uniformity,  does  so  because 
he  is  too  apt  to  think  of  the  great  similarity  which  exists  between 
the  different  sections  of  Germany.  The  only  proper  basis  for 
a  comparison,  however,  would  be  his  taking  Europe  as  a  whole 
into  consideration. 

If  now  the  outward  unity  of  this  system  which  we  have  described 
is  nevertheless  to  be  maintained,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that 
this  form  shall  be  filled  with  very  different  contents.  And  this 
introduction  of  diversity  is  intrusted  to  the  state  legislatures  and 
local  authorities,  who  are  familiar  with  the  special  conditions.  In 
this  way  the  so-called  school  year  in  the  school  ordinances  of  a  rich 
state  may  be  about  twice  as  long  as  in  another  state  whose  poorer 
population  is  perhaps  not  able  entirely  to  do  without  the  economies 
of  child  labour.  But  the  differences  between  the  schools  take 
particularly  such  a  form  that  the  attainments  of  the  different 
schools,  corresponding  to  the  culture  and  prosperity  of  the  state 
in  which  they  are,  and  of  the  community,  are  consciously  designed 


572  THE  AMERICANS 

to  be  quite  different.  The  remoter  rural  schools  which,  on  ac- 
count of  the  poverty  of  their  patronage  perhaps,  have  to  get  on  with 
one  badly  trained  teacher  and  have  to  carry  on  four  grades  of 
instruction  in  one  school-room,  and  other  schools  which  employ 
only  university  graduates,  which  bring  their  scholars  together  in 
sumptuous  buildings,  afford  them  laboratories  and  libraries,  and 
have  all  the  wealth  of  a  great  city  to  back  them  —  these  schools 
cannot  seriously  enter  into  competition  with  each  other.  Two 
years  of  study  in  one  place  will  mean  more  than  four  in  another; 
and  there  is  no  special  danger  in  this,  since  this  very  inequality 
has  brought  it  about  that  the  completion  of  one  grade  in  a  school 
by  no  means  carries  with  it  the  right  to  enter  the  next  higher  grade 
of  any  other  school.  It  is  not  the  case  that  a  scholar  who  has 
passed  through  any  grammar  school  whatsoever  will  be  welcome 
in  every  high  school.  This  is  regulated  by  an  entrance  examin- 
ation for  the  higher  school,  which  will  not  accept  merely  the  cer- 
tificate of  graduation  from  a  lower. 

There  are  still  other  forms  of  this  differentiation.  In  the  first 
place,  the  schools  have  shown  a  growing  tendency  to  establish 
various  parallel  courses,  between  which  the  scholars  are  allowed 
to  choose.  In  the  simplest  case  there  is,  perhaps,  on  the  one  hand 
a  very  practical  plan  of  education,  and  a  second  course  which  is 
rather  more  liberal;  or,  again,  there  may  be  a  course  for  those  who 
are  not  meaning  to  study  further,  and  another  course  for  those 
who  are  preparing  for  the  entrance  examinations  to  some  higher 
school.  The  fiction  of  uniformity  is  preserved  in  this  way.  The 
child  does  not,  as  in  Germany,  choose  between  different  schools; 
but  he  chooses  between  plans  of  education  in  the  same  school,  and 
every  day  the  tendency  deepens  to  make  this  elective  system  more 
and  more  labile. 

But  the  most  modern  pedagogues  are  not  content  even  with  this, 
and  insist,  especially  in  the  grade  of  the  high  school,  that  the  make- 
up of  the  course  of  study  must  be  more  and  more,  as  they  say, 
adapted  to  the  individuality  of  the  scholars;  or,  as  others  think,  to 
the  whimsies  of  the  parents  and  the  scholars.  Since,  in  accord- 
ance with  this,  the  entrance  examinations  for  the  colleges  leave 
considerable  free  play  for  the  choice  of  specialties,  this  move- 
ment will  probably  go  on  developing  for  some  time.  It  appeals 
very  cleverly  to  the  instincts  of  both  the  Puritans  and  the  utili- 


THE  SCHOOLS  373 

tarians.  The  Puritan  demands  the  development  of  all  individual 
gifts,  and  the  utilitarian  wants  the  preparation  for  an  individual 
career.  Nevertheless,  there  are  some  indications  of  an  opposite 
tendency.  Even  the  utilitarian  begins  to  understand  that  he  is 
best  fitted  for  the  fight  who  bases  his  profession  on  the  broadest 
foundation  —  who  begins,  therefore,  with  his  specialization  as  late 
as  possible.  And  the  Puritan,  too,  cannot  wholly  forget  that  noth- 
ing is  more  important  for  his  personal  development  than  the  train- 
ing of  the  will  in  the  performance  of  duty,  in  the  overcoming  of 
personal  inhibitions,  and  that  therefore  for  the  scholar  those 
studies  may  well  be  the  most  valuable  which  at  the  first  he  seems 
least  inclined  to  pursue.  Further  differentiation  results  from 
the  almost  universal  opportunity  to  pass  through  the  schools  in  a 
somewhat  shorter  time.  It  is  also  possible  for  a  student  to  pro- 
gress more  rapidly  in  one  branch  of  study,  and  so  in  different 
branches  to  advance  at  different  rates. 

We  have  over  and  above  all  these  things,  and  more  particularly 
in  the  large  cities,  a  factor  of  differentiation  which  has  so  far  been 
quite  left  out  of  account.  This  is  the  private  school.  The  goal 
for  the  student  who  wants  to  advance  is  not  the  diploma  of  gradu- 
ation, but  preparation  for  the  entrance  examinations  which  are 
next  higher.  This  preparation  can  perhaps  be  obtained  more 
thoroughly,  more  quickly,  and  under  more  fortunate  social  condi- 
tions, in  a  private  school,  which  charges  a  high  tuition,  but  in  this 
way  is  able  to  engage  the  very  best  teachers,  and  able  perhaps  to 
have  smaller  classes  than  the  public  schools.  And  such  a  private 
school  will  be  able  to  extend  its  influence  over  all  education. 
Large  and  admirably  conducted  institutions  have  grown  up,  often 
in  some  rural  vicinity,  where  several  hundred  young  persons  lead 
a  harmonious  life  together  and  are  educated  from  their  earliest 
youth,  coming  home  only  during  vacation.  In  such  ways  the 
private  school  has  taken  on  the  most  various  forms,  corresponding 
to  obvious  needs.  They  find  justly  the  encouragement  of  the 
state. 

This  diversity  which  we  have  sketched  of  public  and  private  edu- 
cational institutions  brings  us  at  once  to  another  principle,  which 
has  been  and  always  will  be  of  great  significance  in  American 
material  and  intellectual  history  —  the  principle  that  everywhere 
sharp  demarcations  between  the  institutions  of  different  grades 


THE  AMERICANS 

are  avoided,  and  that  instead,  sliding  gradations  and  easy 
transitions  are  brought  about,  by  means  of  which  any  institution 
can  advance  without  any  hindrance.  This  is  in  every  case  the 
secret  of  American  success  —  free  play  for  the  creations  of  private 
initiative.  The  slightest  aspiration  must  be  allowed  to  work 
itself  out,  and  the  most  modest  effort  must  be  helped  along.  Where 
anything  which  is  capable  of  life  has  sprung  up,  it  should  be 
allowed  to  grow.  Sharp  demarcation  with  official  uniformity 
would  make  that  impossible;  for  only  where  such  unnoticeably 
small  steps  form  the  transitions,  is  any  continuous  inner  growth 
to  be  expected.  We  have  emphasized  the  local  differences.  The 
grammar  school  in  New  York  is  probably  more  efficient  than  the 
high  school  in  Oklahoma,  and  the  high  school  in  Boston  will  carry 
its  students  probably  as  far  as  some  little  college  in  Utah. 

The  thousands  of  institutions  which  exist  afford  a  continuous 
transition  between  such  extremes,  and  every  single  institution 
can  set  its  own  goal  as  high  as  it  wishes  to.  A  school  does  not,  by 
any  act  of  law,  pass  into  a  higher  class;  but  it  perfects  itself  by  the 
fact  that  the  community  introduces  improvements,  makes  new 
changes,  appoints  better  and  better  teachers,  augments  the  cur- 
riculum, and  adds  to  its  physical  equipment.  In  such  ways,  the 
school  year  by  year  imperceptibly  raises  its  standard.  And  the 
same  is  true  of  the  private  school.  Everything  is  a  matter  of  growth, 
and  in  spite  of  the  outward  uniformity  of  the  system  every  school 
has  its  individual  standard.  If  one  were  to  require  that  only  such 
institutions  should  exist  as  had  distinctly  limited  and  similar  aims, 
then  the  American  would  look  on  this  as  he  would  on  an  attempt 
to  force  all  cities  to  be  either  often  thousand,  a  hundred  thousand, 
or  a  million  inhabitants.  Of  course,  all  this  would  have  to  be 
changed,  if  as  in  Germany,  certain  school  grades  carried  with  them 
certain  privileges.  In  America  no  school  diploma  carries  offi- 
cially any  privilege  at  all.  It  is  the  entrance  examination,  and  not 
the  tests  for  graduation,  which  is  decisive;  and  if  there  is  any 
question  of  filling  a  position,  the  particular  schools  which  the  can- 
didates have  gone  through  are  the  things  which  are  chiefly  taken 
into  account. 

We  must  mention  one  more  trait  which  differentiates  the  Ameri- 
can from  the  German  school  system.  The  American  public  school 
is  co-educational.  Co-education  means  theoretically  that  boys 


THE  SCHOOLS  375 

and  girls  are  entitled  to  common  education,  but  practically  it 
means  that  boys  are  also  tolerated.  The  idea  that  the  school 
should  not  recognize  differences  of  sex  is  most  firmly  rooted  in  the 
Middle- Western  States,  where  the  population  is  somewhat  coldly 
matter  of  fact;  but  it  has  spread  through  the  entire  country.  It 
is  said  that  family  life  lends  the  authority  for  such  an  intermin- 
gling of  boys  and  girls;  that,  through  a  constant  and  mutual  in- 
fluence, the  boys  are  refined  and  the  girls  are  made  hardy;  and 
that,  during  the  years  of  development,  sexual  tension  is  diminished. 
It  is  one  of  the  chief  attractions  that  the  private  school  offers  to 
smaller  circles  that  it  gives  up  this  hardening  of  the  girls  and 
refining  of  the  boys,  and  is  always  either  a  boys'  or  a  girls'  school. 

Even  more  striking  than  the  presence  of  girls  in  the  boys* 
schools  is,  perhaps,  the  great  number  of  women  who  figure  as 
teachers.  The  employment  of  women  teachers  began  in  the 
Northern  States  after  the  Civil  War,  because  as  a  direct  result  of 
the  decimation  of  the  population  there  were  not  men  teachers 
enough.  Since  that  time  this  practice  has  increased  throughout 
the  country;  and  although  high  schools  generally  try  to  get  men 
teachers,  the  more  elementary  schools  are  really  wholly  in  the 
hands  of  women.  Men  do  not  compete  for  the  lower  schools, 
since  the  competition  of  the  women  has  brought  down  the  wages, 
and  more  remunerative,  not  to  say  more  attractive,  situations  are 
to  be  found  in  plenty.  Women,  on  the  other  hand,  flock  in  in 
great  numbers,  since  their  whole  education  has  made  them  look 
forward  to  some  professional  activity,  and  no  other  calling  seems 
so  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  feminine  nature.  The  merits  and 
drawbacks  of  co-education  and  of  the  predominance  of  women 
teachers  cannot  be  separated  from  the  general  question  of  woman's 
rights;  and  so  the  due  treatment  of  these  conditions  must  be  put 
off  until  we  come  to  consider  the  American  woman  from  all  sides. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  criticise  rather  sharply  the  school  system, 
and  any  one  living  in  the  midst  of  American  life  will  feel  it  a  duty 
to  deliver  his  criticism  without  parsimony.  A  system  which  ex- 
pects the  best  it  is  to  have,  from  the  initiative  of  the  periphery, 
must  also  expect  the  ceaseless  critical  co-operation  of  the  whole 
nation. 

In  this  way,  then,  crying  and  undeniable  evils  are  often  pointed 
out.  We  hear  of  political  interference  in  the  government  of  the 


376  THE  AMERICANS 

schools,  and  of  the  deficient  technical  knowledge  of  local  author- 
ities, of  the  insufficient  preparation  of  the  women  teachers,  the 
poorness  of  the  methods  of  instruction,  of  waste  of  time,  of  arbi- 
trary pedagogical  experiments,  and  of  much  else.  In  every  re- 
proach there  is  a  kernel  of  truth.  The  connection  of  the  schools 
with  politics  is  in  a  certain  sense  unavoidable,  since  all  city  govern- 
ment is  a  party  government.  And  the  attempts  to  separate  elec- 
tions for  the  school  committee  entirely  from  politics  will  probably, 
for  a  long  time  yet,  meet  with  only  slight  success.  Since,  however, 
every  party  is  able  to  put  its  hand  on  discrete  and  competent 
men,  the  only  great  danger  is  lest  the  majority  of  those  concerned 
misuse  their  influence  for  party  ends,  and  perhaps  deal  out  school 
positions  and  advancements  as  a  reward  for  political  services. 

Such  things  certainly  happen;  but  they  never  escape  the  notice 
of  the  opposite  party,  and  are  faithfully  exploited  in  the  next 
year's  election.  In  this  way  any  great  abuses  are  quickly  checked. 
The  secret  doings,  which  have  nothing  to  do  with  politics,  are  a 
great  deal  more  dangerous.  It  is  certain  that  the  enormous 
school  budgets  of  the  large  cities  offer  the  possibility  for  a  deplor- 
able plundering  of  the  public  treasury,  when  it  is  a  question  of 
buying  new  land  for  school-houses,  of  closing  building  contracts, 
or  of  introducing  certain  text-books.  A  committee-man  who  in 
these  ways  is  willing  to  abuse  his  influence  is  able  to  derive  a  con- 
siderable profit;  and  so  it  may  well  happen  that  men  come  to  be  on 
the  school  boards  through  political  influence  or  through  a  professed 
interest  in  school  matters,  who  have  really  no  other  aim  than  to 
get  something  out  of  it.  It  is  very  hard  in  such  matters  to  arrive 
at  a  really  fair  judgment,  since  the  rival  claimants  who  are  unsuc- 
cessful are  very  apt  to  frame  the  opinion  that  they  have  been  so 
because  the  successful  man  had  "connections." 

This  sharply  suspicious  tendency  and  spirit  of  overwatchful- 
ness  on  the  part  of  the  public  are  certainly  very  useful  in  preserv- 
ing the  complete  integrity  of  the  schools,  but  they  occasion  such 
a  considerable  tumult  of  rumour  that  it  easily  misleads  one's  judg- 
ment as  to  the  real  condition  of  the  institutions.  In  general,  the 
school  committees  appointed  in  the  local  elections  perform  their 
work  in  all  conscientiousness.  It  is,  of  course,  the  fact  that  they 
are  rather  frequently  ignorant  of  things  which  they  need  to  know; 
but  the  tendency  to  leave  all  technical  questions  in  the  hands  of 


THE  SCHOOLS  377 

pedagogical  specialists,  and  to  undertake  any  innovations  only  at 
the  advice  of  the  school  superintendent  and  directors,  is  so  gen- 
eral that  on  the  whole  things  do  not  go  quite  so  badly  as  one 
might  expect. 

The  preparation  of  the  teachers  leaves  very  much  to  be  wished. 
Those  teachers  who  have  been  educated  in  higher  seminaries  are 
by  no  means  numerous  enough  to  fill  all  the  public  school  posi- 
tions ;  and  even  less  does  the  number  of  college  graduates  suffice 
for  the  needs  of  the  high  schools.  The  fact  that  the  teaching  pro- 
fession is  remarkably  versed  in  pedagogics  only  apparently  relieves 
this  defect;  for  even  the  very  best  methods  of  teaching  are  of 
course  no  substitute  for  a  firm  grasp  of  the  subject  which  is  being 
taught.  In  the  elementary  schools  the  lack  of  theoretical  training 
in  a  teacher  is,  of  course,  less  felt.  The  instinct  of  the  teacher,  her 
interest  in  the  child,  her  tact  and  sympathy,  in  short  the  personal 
element,  are  what  is  here  most  important.  And  since  all  this,  even 
in  the  superficially  educated  woman,  springs  purely  from  her  fem- 
inity, and  since  the  energetic  women  are  extraordinarily  eager 
and  self-sacrificing,  so  it  happens  that  almost  everywhere  the 
elementary  schools  are  better  conducted  by  their  women  teachers 
than  are  the  high  schools. 

So  far  as  method  goes,  a  great  deal  too  much  stress  is  laid  on  the 
text-book;  too  much  is  taught  mechanically  out  of  the  book,  and 
too  little  is  directly  imparted  by  the  teacher.  The  teacher  submits 
passively  to  the  text-book;  and  the  American  himself  is  inclined 
to  defend  this,  since  his  democratic  belief  in  the  power  of  black 
and  white  is  unlimited.  Before  all,  he  regards  it  as  the  chief  aim  of 
the  public  school  to  prepare  the  citizen  for  the  independent  read- 
ing of  newspapers  and  books.  Therefore,  the  scholars  are  ex- 
pected to  become  as  much  acquainted  as  possible  with  the  use 
of  books.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  American  school  children 
read  more  newspapers  in  later  life  than  do  the  European,  and  it 
must  also  be  borne  in  mind  that  for  the  most  part  the  text-books 
are  notably  good.  Perhaps,  in  regard  to  attractiveness,  they  even 
go  rather  too  far.  In  this  way  not  only  the  books  of  natural  his- 
tory, but  also  of  history  and  literature,  are  crowded  with  illustra- 
tions. The  geographies  are  generally  lavishly  gotten-up  volumes 
with  all  sorts  of  entertaining  pictures.  The  appeals  to  the  eye, 
both  by  means  of  the  text-books  and  even  more  by  the  aid  of 


378  THE  AMERICANS 

demonstrations  and  experiments,  are  carried  really  to  excess.  Even 
the  blackboards,  which  run  along  all  four  walls  of  the  school 
rooms,  encourage  the  teacher  to  appeal  rather  more  to  the  eye 
than  to  the  ear. 

Also  the  much-discussed  experimentation  with  new  pedagogical 
ideas  is  an  unfortunate  fact  which  cannot  be  denied.  A  central 
authority,  which  was  held  fully  responsible  for  a  large  district, 
would  of  course  be  conservative;  but  where  the  details  of  teaching 
are  left  entirely  to  every  local  school  inspector,  then  of  course 
many  shallow  reforms  and  many  unnecessary  experiments  with 
doubtful  methods  will  be  undertaken.  The  school  inspector  will 
feel  himself  moved  to  display  his  modern  spirit  and  to  show  his 
pedagogical  efficiency  in  just  these  ways.  And  many  a  private 
school,  in  order  to  make  itself  attractive  to  the  public,  is  obliged 
to  introduce  the  latest  pedagogical  foibles  and  to  make  all  sorts 
of  concessions,  perhaps  against  its  will.  To-day  the  method  of 
writing  will  be  oblique,  to-morrow  vertical,  and  the  day  after  to- 
morrow "reformed  vertical."  The  pupils  to-day  are  taught  to 
spell,  to-morrow  to  pronounce  syllables,  the  next  day  to  take  the 
whole  word  as  the  least  unit  in  language;  and  a  day  later  they  may 
be  taught  the  meaning  of  the  words  by  means  of  appropriate  move- 
ments. 

It  is  not  quite  easy  for  a  professional  psychologist,  who  lectures 
every  year  to  hundreds  of  students  in  that  subject,  to  say  openly 
that  this  irregular  and  often  dilettante  craze  for  reform  is  en- 
couraged by  nothing  more  than  by  the  interest  in  psychology 
which  rages  throughout  the  country.  The  public  has  been  dis- 
satisfied with  teachers,  and  conceived  the  idea  that  everything 
would  be  better  if  the  pedagogues  concerned  themselves  more 
with  the  psychical  life  of  their  pupils.  And  since  for  this  purpose 
every  mother  and  every  teacher  has  the  materials  at  hand,  there 
has  sprung  up  a  pseudo-psychological  study  of  unexampled  dimen- 
sions. It  is  only  a  small  step  from  such  a  study  to  very  radical 
reforms.  Yet  everything  here  comes  back  in  the  end  to  the  inde- 
pendent interests  and  initiative  of  the  teacher;  and  although  many 
of  these  reforms  are  amateurish  and  immature,  they  are  neverthe- 
less better  than  the  opposite  extreme  would  be  —  that  is,  than  a 
body  of  indifferent  and  thoughtless  teachers  without  any  initiative 
at  all. 


THE  SCHOOLS 

It  is  also  not  to  be  denied  that  the  American  school  wastes  a 
good  deal  of  time,  and  accomplishes  the  same  intellectual  result 
with  a  much  greater  outlay  of  time  than  the  German  school. 
There  are  plenty  of  reasons  for  this.  Firstly,  it  is  conspicuous 
throughout  the  country  that  Saturday  is  a  day  of  vacation.  This 
is  incidental  to  the  Puritan  Sunday.  The  school  day  begins  at 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  the  long  summer  vacations  are 
everywhere  regarded  as  times  for  idleness,  and  are  almost  never 
broken  in  on  by  any  sort  of  work.  Again,  the  home  duties  required 
of  the  school  children  are  fewer  than  are  required  of  the  German 
child,  and  all  the  instruction  is  less  exacting.  The  American 
girls  would  hardly  be  able  to  stand  so  great  a  burden  if  the  schools 
demanded  the  same  as  the  German  boys'  schools.  Herewith,  how- 
ever, one  must  not  forget  that  this  time  which  is  taken  from  work 
is  dedicated  very  specially  to  the  development  of  the  body,  to 
sport  and  other  active  exercises,  and  in  this  way  the  perfection  of 
the  whole  man  is  by  no  means  neglected.  Moreover,  America  has 
been  able,  at  least  so  far,  to  afford  the  luxury  of  this  loss  of  time; 
the  national  wealth  permits  its  young  men  to  take  up  the  earning 
of  their  daily  bread  later  than  European  conditions  would  allow. 

When  the  worst  has  been  said  and  duly  weighed,  it  remains 
that  the  system  as  a  whole  is  one  of  which  the  American  may  well 
be  proud  —  a  system  so  thoroughly  elastic  as  to  be  suited  to  all  parts 
of  the  country  and  to  all  classes  of  society.  It  is  a  system  which 
indubitably,  with  its  broad  foundation  in  the  popular  school,  em- 
bodies all  the  requirements  for  the  sound  development  of  youth, 
and  one,  finally,  which  is  adapted  to  a  nation  accustomed  to  in- 
dividualism, and  which  meets  the  national  requirement  of  per- 
fection of  the  individual. 

And  now  finally  we  may  give  a  few  figures  by  way  of  orientation. 
In  the  year  1902  out  of  the  population  of  over  75,000,000,  17,460,- 
ooo  pupils  attended  institutions  of  learning.  This  number  would 
be  increased  by  more  than  half  a  million  if  private  kindergartens, 
manual  training  schools,  evening  schools,  schools  for  Indians,  and 
so  forth  were  taken  into  account.  The  primary  and  intermediate 
schools  have  16,479,177  scholars,  and  private  schools  about  1,240,- 
ooo.  This  ratio  is  changed  in  favour  of  the  private  institutions 
when  we  come  to  the  next  step  above,  for  the  public  high  schools 
have  560,000  and  the  private  ones  150,000  students.  The  re- 


380  THE  AMERICANS 

mainder  is  in  higher  institutions  of  learning.  To  consider  for 
the  moment  only  the  public  schools;  instruction  is  imparted  by 
127,529  male  and  293,759  female  teachers.  The  average  salary 
of  a  male  teacher  is  more  than  $46  a  month,  and  of  the  female 
teacher  $39.  The  expenditures  were  something  over  $213,000,- 
ooo;  and  of  this  about  69  per  cent,  came  from  the  local  taxes,  16 
per  cent,  from  the  state  taxes,  and  the  remainder  from  fixed 
endowments.  Again,  if  we  consider  only  the  cities  of  more  than 
8,000  inhabitants,  we  find  the  following  figures:  in  1902  America 
had  580  such  cities,  with  25,000,000  inhabitants,  4,174,812 
scholars  and  90,744  teachers  in  the  municipal  public  schools,  and 
877,210  students  in  private  schools.  These  municipal  systems 
have  5,025  superintendents,  inspectors,  etc.  The  whole  outlay 
for  school  purposes  amounted  to  about  $110,000,000. 

The  high  schools  are  especially  characteristic.  The  increase  of 
attendance  in  these  schools  has  been  much  faster  than  that  of  the 
population.  In  1890  there  were  only  59  pupils  for  every  10,000 
inhabitants;  in  1895  there  were  79;  and  in  1900  there  were  95. 
It  is  noticeable  that  this  increase  is  entirely  in  the  public  schools. 
Of  those  59  scholars  in  1890,  36  were  in  public  high  schools  and 
23  in  private.  By  1900  there  were  25  in  private,  but  70  in  the 
public  schools.  Of  the  students  in  the  public  high  schools  50 
per  cent,  studied  Latin,  9  per  cent.  French,  15  per  cent.  German. 
The  principal  courses  of  study  are  English  grammar,  English 
literature,  history,  geography,  mathematics,  and  physics.  In  the 
private  schools  23  per  cent,  took  French,  18  per  cent.  German, 
10  per  cent.  Greek.  Only  u  per  cent,  of  students  in  the  public 
high  schools  go  to  college,  but  32  per  cent,  of  those  in  private 
schools.  Out  of  the  1,978  private  high  schools  in  the  year  1900, 
945  were  for  students  of  special  religious  sects;  361  were  Roman 
Catholic,  98  were  Episcopalian,  96  Baptist,  93  Presbyterian, 
65  Methodist,  55  Quaker,  32  Lutheran,  etc.  There  were  more 
than  1,000  private  high  schools  not  under  the  influence  of  any 
church.  One  real  factor  of  their  influence  is  found  in  the  statis- 
tical fact  that,  in  the  public  high  schools,  there  are  26  scholars  for 
every  teacher,  while  in  the  private  schools  only  n. 

The  following  figures  will  suffice  to  give  an  idea  of  the  great 
differences  which  exist  between  the  different  states:  The  number 
of  scholars  in  high  schools  in  the  state  of  Massachusetts  is  15  to 


THE  SCHOOLS  38i 

every  1,000  citizens;  in  the  state  of  New  York,  n;  in  Illinois,  9; 
in  Texas,  7;  in  the  Carolinas,  5;  and  in  Oklahoma,  3.  In  the  pri- 
vate high  schools  of  the  whole  country  the  boys  were  slightly  in 
the  majority;  50.3  per  cent,  against  49.7  per  cent,  of  girls.  In 
order  to  give  at  least  a  glimpse  of  this  abyss,  we  may  say  that  in 
the  public  high  school  the  boys  were  only  41.6  per  cent.,  while  the 
girls  were  58.4  per  cent. 

So  much  for  the  schools  proper.  We  shall  later  consider  the 
higher  institutions  —  colleges,  universities,  and  so  forth  —  while 
the  actual  expanse  of  the  school  system  in  America,  as  we  have 
said  before,  is  broader  still.  In  the  first  place,  the  kindergar- 
ten, a  contribution  which  Germany  has  made,  deserves  notice. 
Very  few  creations  of  German  thought  have  won  such  complete 
acceptance  in  the  New  World  as  Froebel's  system  of  education; 
and  seldom,  indeed,]  is  the  German  origin  of  an  institution  so 
frankly  and  freely  recognized.  Froebel  is  everywhere  praised, 
and  the  German  word  "Kindergarten"  has  been  universally 
adopted  in  the  English  language. 

Miss  Peabody,  of  Boston,  took  the  part  of  pioneer,  back  in  the 
fifties.  Very  soon  the  movement  spread  to  St.  Louis  and  to  New 
York,  so  that  in  1875  there  were  already  about  one  hundred 
kindergartens  with  3,000  children.  To-day  there  must  be  about 
5,000  kindergartens  distributed  over  the  country,  with  about  a 
quarter  of  a  million  children.  During  this  development  various 
tendencies  have  been  noticeable.  At  first  considerable  stress  was 
laid  on  giving  some  rational  sort  of  occupation  to  the  children  of 
the  rich  who  were  not  quite  old  enough  for  school.  Later,  however, 
philanthropic  interest  in  the  children  of  the  very  poorest  part  of 
the  population  became  the  leading  motive  —  the  children,  that  is, 
who,  without  such  careful  nurture,  would  be  exposed  to  dangerous 
influences.  Both  of  these  needs  could  be  satisfied  by  private 
initiative.  Slowly,  however,  these  two  extremes  came  to  meet; 
not  only  the  richest  and  poorest,  but  also  the  children  of  the  great 
middle  classes  from  the  fourth  to  the  sixth  year,  were  gradually 
brought  under  this  sort  of  school  training.  As  soon  as  the  system 
was  recognized  to  be  a  need  of  the  entire  community,  it  was  natu- 
rally adopted  into  the  popular  system  of  instruction.  To-day  two 
hundred  and  fifty  cities  have  kindergartens  as  a  part  of  their  school 
systems. 


382  THE  AMERICANS 

Meanwhile  there  has  sprung  up  still  another  tendency,  which 
took  its  origin  in  Chicago.  Chicago  probably  has  the  best  insti- 
tution with  a  four  years'  course  for  the  preparation  of  teachers 
for  the  kindergarten.  In  this  school  not  only  the  professional 
teachers,  but  the  mothers,  are  welcomed.  And  through  the  means 
of  this  institution  in  Chicago,  the  endeavour  is  slowly  spreading  to 
educate  mothers  everywhere  how  to  bring  up  their  children  who 
are  still  in  the  nursery  so  as  to  be  bodily,  intellectually,  and  morally 
sound.  The  actual  goal  of  this  very  reasonable  movement  may 
well  be  the  disappearance  of  the  official  kindergarten.  The  child 
will  then  find  appropriate  direction  and  inspiration  in  the  natural 
surroundings  of  its  home,  and  the  kindergarten  will,  as  at  first, 
limit  itself  chiefly  to  those  rich  families  who  wish  to  purchase  their 
freedom  from  parental  cares,  and  to  such  poor  families  as  have  to 
work  so  hard  that  they  have  no  time  left  to  look  after  their  children. 
A  slow  reaction,  moreover,  is  going  on  among  the  public  school 
teachers.  The  child  who  comes  out  of  the  Froebel  school  into 
the  primary  school  is  said  to  be  somewhat  desultory  in  his  activ- 
ities, and  so  perhaps  this  great  popularity  of  the  kindergarten  will 
gradually  decrease.  Nevertheless,  for  the  moment  the  kinder- 
garten must  be  recognized  as  a  passing  fashion  of  very  great  impor- 
tance, and,  so  far  as  it  devotes  itself  philanthropically  to  children 
in  the  poor  districts,  its  value  can  hardly  be  overestimated. 

Now,  all  this  instruction  of  the  child  before  he  goes  to  school 
is  much  less  significant  and  less  widely  disseminated  than  those 
thousandfold  modes  of  instruction  which  are  carried  on  for  the 
development  of  men  and  women  after  they  have  passed  their 
school  days.  Any  one  who  knows  this  country  will  at  once  call 
to  mind  the  innumerable  courses  of  lectures,  clubs  of  study, 
Chautauqua  institutions,  university  extension  courses,  women's 
clubs,  summer  and  correspondence  schools,  free  scientific  lec- 
tures, and  many  other  such  institutions  which  have  developed 
here  more  plentifully  than  in  any  other  country.  After  having 
dwelt  on  the  kindergarten,  one  is  somewhat  tempted  to  think  also 
of  these  as  men  and  women  gardens.  There  is  really  some  resem- 
blance to  a  sort  of  intellectual  garden,  where  no  painful  effort  or 
hard  work  is  laid  out  for  the  young  men  and  women  who  wander 
there  carelessly  to  pluck  the  flowers.  But  it  is,  perhaps,  rather  too 
easy  for  the  trained  person  to  be  unjust  to  such  informal  means 


THE  SCHOOLS  383 

of  culture.  It  is  really  hard  to  view  the  latter  in  quite  the  right 
perspective.  Whosoever  has  once  freed  himself  from  all  pre- 
judices, and  looked  carefully  into  the  psychic  life  of  the  intellec- 
tual middle  classes,  will  feel  at  once  the  incomparable  value  of 
these  peculiar  forms  of  intellectual  stimulation,  and  their  great 
significance  for  the  self-perfection  of  the  great  masses. 

While  the  kindergarten  was  imported  from  Germany,  the  uni- 
versity extension  movement  came  from  England.  This  move- 
ment, which  was  very  popular  about  a  decade  ago,  is  decidedly 
now  on  the  wane.  Those  forms  of  popular  education  which  are 
distinctly  American  have  shown  themselves  to  possess  the  most 
vigour.  There  is  one  name  which,  above  all  others,  is  characteristic 
of  these  native  institutions.  It  is  Chautauqua.  This  is  the  old 
Indian  name  for  a  lake  which  lies  very  pleasantly  situated  in  the 
State  of  New  York,  about  two  hours  by  train  from  Buffalo.  The 
name  of  the  lake  has  gone  over  to  the  village  on  its  banks,  the  name 
of  the  village  has  been  carried  over  to  that  system  of  instruction 
which  was  first  begun  there,  and  now  every  institution  is  called 
Chautauquan  which  is  modelled  after  that  system.  Even  to-day 
the  school  at  Chautauqua  is  the  foutain-head  of  the  whole  move- 
ment. Every  summer,  and  particularly  through  July  and  August, 
when  the  school-teachers  have  their  vacation,  some  ten  thousand 
men  and  women  gather  together  to  participate  in  a  few  weeks  of 
recreation  and  intellectual  stimulation.  The  life  there  is  quiet  and 
simple;  concerts  and  lectures  are  given  in  the  open  air  in  an  amphi- 
theatre which  seats  several  thousand,  and  there  are  smaller  classes 
of  systematic  instruction  in  all  departments  of  learning.  The 
teachers  in  special  courses  are  mostly  professors.  The  lecturers 
in  the  general  gatherings  are  well-known  politicians,  officials, 
scholars,  ministers,  or  otherwise  distinguished  personalities.  For 
the  sake  of  recreation,  there  are  excursions,  dramatic  performances, 
and  concerts.  A  few  hours  of  systematic  work  every  day  serve 
as  a  stimulus  for  thought  and  culture,  while  the  mutual  influence 
of  the  men  and  women  who  are  so  brought  together  and  the  whole 
atmosphere  of  the  place  generate  a  real  moral  enthusiasm. 

The  special  courses  which  range  from  Greek,  the  study  of  the 
Bible,  and  mathematics  to  political  economy,  philosophy,  and 
pedagogics,  are  supplemented  on  the  one  hand  by  examinations 
from  which  the  participators  get  a  certificate  in  black  and  white 


384  THE  AMERICANS 

which  is  highly  prized  among  teachers;  and  on  the  other  side,  by 
suggestions  for  the  further  carrying  on  by  private  reading  of  the 
studies  which  they  have  elected.  The  enthusiastic  banner-bearer 
of  Chautauqua  is  still  to-day  one  of  its  founders,  Bishop  Vincent. 
He  has  done  more  than  any  one  else  toward  bringing  harmony 
into  the  monotonous  and  intellectually  hungry  lives  of  hundreds 
of  thousands  throughout  the  country,  and  especially  of  public 
school  teachers.  And  in  this  work  the  instruction,  the  religious 
strengthening,  the  instillation  of  personal  contentment,  patriotic 
enthusiasm,  aesthetic  joy  in  life,  and  moral  inspiration,  are  not 
to  be  separated. 

When  Theodore  Roosevelt,  who  was  then  governor  of  New  York, 
spoke  in  the  Chautauqua  amphitheatre  to  more  than  ten  thousand 
persons,  he  turned  enthusiastically  to  Bishop  Vincent  and  said, 
"  I  know  of  nothing  in  the  whole  country  which  is  so  filled  with 
blessing  for  the  nation."  And  when  he  had  finished,  the  whole 
audience  gave  him  the  Chautauqua  salute;  ten  thousand  hand- 
kerchiefs were  waved  in  the  air  —  an  extraordinary  sight,  which  in 
Chautauqua  signifies  the  greatest  appreciation.  This  custom  be- 
gan years  ago,  when  a  deaf  scholar  had  given  a  lecture,  and  while 
the  thundering  applause  was  sounding  which  the  speaker  himself 
could  not  hear,  Bishop  Vincent  brought  out  this  visible  token  of 
gratification;  and  this  form  of  applause  not  only  became  a  tradi- 
tion there,  but  also  spread  to  all  other  Chautauqua  institutions 
throughout  the  country.  To-day  there  are  more  than  three  hun- 
dred of  these,  many  of  them  in  beautifully  situated  summer  re- 
sorts, and  some  equipped  with  splendid  libraries,  banquet  halls, 
casinos,  and  clubs.  Some  of  these  concentrate  their  energies  in 
particular  lines  of  learning,  and  of  course  they  are  very  different 
in  scope  and  merit.  And  nevertheless  the  fundamental  trait  of 
idealism  shows  through  all  these  popular  academies. 

Among  other  varieties  of  popular  instruction  there  are  the  at- 
tempts at  university  extension,  which  are  very  familiar.  The  chief 
aim  is  here  to  utilize  the  teaching  forces  and  other  means  of  instruc- 
tion of  the  higher  educational  institutions  for  the  benefit  of  the 
great  masses.  Often  the  thing  has  been  treated  as  if  it  were  a 
matter  of  course,  in  a  political  democracy,  that  colleges  and  uni- 
versities ought  not  to  confine  themselves  to  the  narrow  circles  of 
their  actual  students,  but  should  go  out  and  down  to  the  artisans 


THE  SCHOOLS  385 

and  labourers.  But  it  was  always  asserted  that  this  education 
should  not  consist  merely  in  entertaining  lectures,  but  should  in- 
volve a  form  of  teaching  that  presupposed  a  certain  participa- 
tion and  serious  application  on  the  part  of  the  attendants.  And 
the  chief  emphasis  has  been  laid  on  having  every  subject  treated 
in  a  series  of  from  six  to  twelve  meetings,  on  distributing  to 
the  hearers  a  concise  outline  of  the  lectures  with  references  to 
literature,  on  allowing  the  audience  after  the  lecture  to  ask  as 
many  questions  as  it  desired,  and  on  holding  a  written  examination 
at  the  end  of  the  course.  Any  one  who  has  passed  a  certain  num- 
ber of  these  examinations  receives  a  certificate.  In  one  year, 
for  example,  there  were  43  places  in  which  the  University  of  Phila- 
delphia gave  such  courses  of  lectures.  The  University  of  Chicago 
has  arranged  as  many  as  141  courses  of  six  lectures  each,  in  92 
different  places.  Other  higher  institutions  have  done  likewise; 
and  if  indeed  the  leading  universities  of  the  East  have  entirely 
declined  to  take  part,  nevertheless  the  country,  and  particularly 
the  West,  is  everywhere  scattered  with  such  lecture  courses. 

These  lectures  can  be  divided  into  two  groups;  those  which  are 
instructive  and  educate  their  hearers,  and  those  which  are  inspir- 
ing and  awaken  enthusiasm.  The  first  are  generally  illustrated 
with  stereopticon  pictures,  the  last  are  illustrated  with  poetical  quo- 
tations. Here,  as  everywhere  in  the  world,  the  educational  lectures 
are  often  merely  tiresome,  and  the  inspiring  ones  merely  bombastic. 
But  the  reason  for  the  rapid  decline  in  this  whole  movement  is  prob- 
ably not  the  bad  quality  of  the  lectures,  but  the  great  inconven- 
ience which  the  lecturers  feel  in  going  so  far  from  their  accus- 
tomed haunts.  It  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  very  much  good  has 
come  after  all  from  this  form  of  instruction.  The  summer  schools 
have  a  similar  relation  to  the  higher  institutions,  but  a  much  more 
thorough-going  character;  and  while  the  university  extension 
movement  is  waning,  the  summer  school  instruction  is  on  the 
increase.  First  of  all,  even  the  leading  universities  take  part  in 
it,  although  it  is  mostly  the  second  violins  who  render  the  music; 
that  is  to  say,  younger  instructors  rather  than  the  venerable  pro- 
fessors are  the  ones  who  teach.  High  school  teachers  and  min- 

O 

isters  often  return  in  this  way  to  their  alma  mater,  and  the  neces- 
sity of  devoting  one's  self  for  six  weeks  to  a  single  subject  gives  to 
the  whole  enterprise  a  very  much  more  scholarly  character.  That 


386  THE  AMERICANS 

interesting  summer  school  which  was  held  a  few  years  ago  in 
Cambridge  is  still  remembered,  when  Harvard  invited  at  its  own 
expense  1,400  of  the  most  earnest  Cuban  school  teachers,  and 
instilled  in  them  through  six  long  weeks  something  of  American 
culture. 

Again,  and  this  quite  independent  of  the  higher  institutions 
and  of  any  formal  courses,  there  are  the  institutions  for  free  lec- 
tures. Indeed,  there  are  so  many  that  one  might  almost  call  them 
lecture  factories.  The  receptive  attitude  of  the  American  public 
of  all  classes  toward  lectures  surpasses  the  comprehension  of  the 
European.  In  many  circles,  indeed,  this  is  positively  a  passion; 
and  the  extraordinary  plentifulness  of  opportunity,  of  course,  dis- 
ciplines and  strengthens  the  demand,  which  took  its  origin  in  the 
same  strong  spirit  of  self-perfection. 

A  favourable  fact  is  undoubtedly  the  high  perfection  to  which 
the  lecture  has  been  cultivated  in  America.  As  compared  with 
European  countries,  a  larger  proportion  of  lectures  may  fairly 
be  called  works  of  art  as  regards  both  their  content  and  their  form. 
The  American  is  first  of  all  an  artist  in  any  sort  of  enthusiastic 
and  persuasive  exposition.  For  this  very  reason  his  lectures  are  so 
much  more  effective  than  whatever  he  prints,  and  for  this  reason, 
too,  the  public  flocks  to  hear  him.  This  state  of  things  has  also 
been  favoured  by  the  general  custom  of  going  to  political  meetings 
and  listening  to  political  speeches.  In  Boston  and  its  suburbs, 
for  example,  although  it  is  not  larger  than  Hamburg,  no  less  than 
five  public  lectures  per  day  on  the  average  are  delivered  between 
September  and  June.  In  contrast  to  German  views,  it  is  con- 
sidered entirely  appropriate  for  lecturers  on  all  public  occasions 
to  receive  financial  compensation;  just  as  any  Gerntan  scholar 
would  accept  from  a  publisher  some  emolument  for  his  literary 
productions.  This  is,  of  course,  not  true  of  lectures  at  congresses, 
clubs,  or  popular  gatherings.  In  a  state  like  Massachusetts,  every 
little  town  has  its  woman's  club,  with  regular  evenings  for  lectures 
by  outside  speakers;  and  the  condition  of  the  treasury  practically 
decides  whether  one  or  two  hundred  dollars  shall  be  paid  for  some 
drawing  speaker  who  will  give  a  distinguished  look  to  the  pro- 
gramme; or  whether  the  club  will  be  satisfied  with  some  teacher 
from  the  next  town  who  will  deliver  his  last  year's  lecture  on 
Pericles,  or  the  tubercle  bacillus,  for  twenty  dollars.  And  so  it  is 


THE  SCHOOLS  387 

through  the  entire  country;  the  quantity  decreases  as  one  goes 
South,  and  the  quality  as  one  goes  West. 

All  this  is  no  new  phenomenon  in  American  life.  In  the  year 
1639  lectures  on  religious  subjects  were  so  much  a  matter  of  course 
in  New  England,  and  Bostonians  were  so  confirmed  in  the  habit 
of  going  to  lectures,  that  a  law  was  passed  concerning  the  giving 
of  such  lectures.  It  said  that  the  poor  people  were  tempted  by 
the  lecturer  to  neglect  their  affairs  and  to  harm  their  health,  as 
the  lectures  lasted  well  into  the  night.  Scientific  lectures,  how- 
ever, came  into  popular  appreciation  not  earlier  than  the  nine- 
teenth century.  In  the  first  decade  of  that  century,  the  famous 
chemist,  Silliman,  of  Yale  University,  attained  a  great  success  in 
popular  scientific  lectures.  After  the  thirties  "lyceums"  flour- 
ished throughout  the  land,  which  were  educational  societies  formed 
for  the  purpose  of  establishing  public  lecture  courses. 

To  be  sure,  these  were  generally  disconnected  lectures,  in  which 
political  and  social  topics  predominated.  Those  were  the  classic 
days  of  oratory,  when  men  like  Webster,  Channing,  Everett, 
Emerson,  Parker,  Mann,  Sumner,  Phillips,  Beecher,  Curtis,  and 
others  enthused  the  nation  with  their  splendid  rhetoric,  and  pre- 
sented to  the  masses  with  pathos  that  we  no  longer  know  those 
great  arguments  which  led  to  the  Civil  War.  The  activities  of 
later  decades  emphasized  the  intellectual  side.  Splendid  insti- 
tutions have  now  been  organized  for  popular  lectures  and  lecture 
courses  in  all  the  leading  cities.  Thus  the  Peabody  Institute  in 
Baltimore,  the  Pratt  Institute  in  New  York,  the  Armour  Institute 
in  Chicago,  and  the  Drexel  Institute  in  Philadelphia  have  come 
into  existence.  The  catalogue  of  the  lectures  and  courses  which, 
for  instance,  the  Pratt  Institute  announces  every  winter  fills  a 
whole  volume;  and  nevertheless,  every  one  who  pays  his  annual 
fee  of  five  dollars  is  entitled  to  take  part  in  all  of  them.  Every 
day  from  morning  to  night  he  may  listen  to  lectures  by  men  who 
are  more  or  less  well  known  throughout  the  country,  and  who 
come  specially  to  New  York  in  order  to  give  their  short  courses 
of  some  six  lectures. 

The  highest  undertaking  of  this  sort  is  the  Lowell  Institute  in 
Boston.  In  1838,  after  a  tour  through  Egypt,  John  A.  Lowell 
added  a  codicil  to  his  will,  whereby  he  gave  half  of  his  large 
income  for  the  free,  popular,  scientific  instruction  of  his  native 


388  THE  AMERICANS 

town.  The  plan  that  has  been  followed  for  sixty  years  is  of  invit- 
ing every  winter  eight  or  ten  of  the  most  distinguished  thinkers 
and  investigators  in  America  and  England  to  give  cycles  of  six  or 
twelve  connected  lectures.  The  plentiful  means  of  this  founda- 
tion have  made  it  possible  to  bring  in  the  really  most  important 
men;  and  on  the  other  hand,  for  just  this  reason  an  invitation  to 
deliver  the  Lowell  Lectures  has  come  to  be  esteemed  a  high  honour 
in  the  English-speaking  world.  Men  like  Lyell  and  Tyndall 
and  many  others  have  come  across  the  ocean;  even  Agassiz,  the 
well-known  geologist,  came  to  the  New  World  first  as  a  Lowell 
lecturer,  and  then  later  settled  at  Harvard  University.  Up  to 
this  time  some  five  thousand  lectures  have  been  held  before  large 
audiences  by  this  institute.  The  great  advantage  which  this  has 
been  to  the  population  of  Boston  can  in  no  wise  be  estimated,  nor 
can  it  ever  be  known  how  much  this  influence  has  done  for  the 
spirit  of  self-perfection  in  New  England. 

In  a  certain  sense,  however,  we  have  already  overstepped  the 
field  of  popular  education.  The  high  standard  of  the  Lowell 
Institute  and  the  position  of  its  speakers  have  brought  it  about 
that  almost  every  course  has  been  an  original  exposition  of  new 
scientific  lines  of  thought.  While  the  other  popular  courses  have 
got  their  material  second-hand,  or  have  been  at  least  for  the 
speaker  a  repetition  of  his  habitual  discourses  to  students,  in  the 
Lowell  Institute  the  results  of  new  investigations  have  been  the 
main  thing.  And  so  we  have  come  already  to  the  domain  of  pro- 
ductive science,  of  which  we  shall  have  later  to  treat. 

One  who  looks  somewhat  more  deeply  will  realize  that,  outside 
the  Lowell  Institute,  there  is  no  thought  in  by  far  the  larger  part  of 
these  lectures  and  readings,  of  original  scientific  endeavour.  And 
the  question  inevitably  comes  up,  whether  the  intellectual  life  of 
the  country  does  not  lose  too  much  of  its  strength  because  the 
members  of  the  community  who  should  be  especially  devoted  to 
intellectual  production  are  enticed  in  so  many  different  ways 
into  the  paths  of  mere  reproduction.  To  be  sure,  it  is  never  a 
professional  duty  with  these  men,  but  the  temptation  is  so  great 
as  to  overcome  the  latent  resistance  of  even  the  best  of  them. 
There  are  a  few,  it  is  true,  who  see  their  highest  goal  in  these  popu- 
lar and  artistic  expositions  of  their  department  of  science;  and  a 
few  who  feel  that  their  highest  call,  their  most  serious  life-work, 


THE  SCHOOLS  389 

is  to  bear  science  philanthropically  out  to  the  masses.  But  it  is 
different  with  most  of  them.  Many  like  the  rewards;  it  is  such 
an  easy  way  for  the  ready  speaker,  perhaps,  of  doubling  his  salary 
from  the  university:  and  especially  the  younger  men  whose  in- 
come is  small,  find  it  hard  to  resist  the  temptation,  although  just 
they  are  the  ones  who  ought  to  give  all  their  free  energy  to  becom- 
ing proficient  in  special  lines  of  investigation.  Yet  even  this  is 
not  the  chief  motive.  In  countless  cases  where  any  financial 
return  to  the  speaker  is  out  of  the  question,  the  love  of  rhetoric 
exerts  a  similar  temptation.  The  chief  motive,  doubtless,  is  that 
the  American  popular  opinion  is  so  extraordinarily  influenced  by 
the  spoken  word,  and  at  the  same  time  popular  eloquence  is  spread 
abroad  so  widely  by  the  press,  that  not  only  a  mere  passing  reputa- 
tion, but  also  a  strong  and  lasting  influence  on  the  thought  of  the 
people,  can  most  readily  be  gotten  in  this  way. 

And  so  everything  works  together  to  bring  a  large  amount  of 
intellectual  energy  into  the  service  of  the  people.  The  individual 
is  hardly  able  to  resist  the  temptation;  and  certainly  very  many 
thus  harm  seriously  their  best  energies.  Their  popularization 
of  knowledge  diminishes  their  own  scholarship.  They  grow 
adapted  to  half-educated  audiences;  their  pleasure  and  capacity 
for  the  highest  sort  of  scientific  work  are  weakened  by  the  seduc- 
tive applause  which  follows  on  every  pretty  turn  of  thought,  and 
by  the  deep  effect  of  superficial  arguments  which  avoid  and 
conceal  all  the  real  difficulties.  This  is  most  especially  true  of 
that  merely  mechanical  repetition  which  is  encouraged  by  the 
possession  of  a  lecture  manuscript.  If  it  is  true  that  Wendell 
Phillips  repeated  his  speech  on  the  Lost  Arts  two  thousand  times, 
it  was  doubtless  a  unique  case,  and  is  hardly  possible  to-day. 
Nevertheless,  to-day  we  find  most  regrettably  frequent  repetitions; 
and  a  few  competent  intellects  have  entirely  abandoned  their 
activities  on  regular  academic  lines  to  travel  through  the  country 
on  lecture  tours.  For  instance,  a  brilliant  historian  like  John 
Fiske,  would  undoubtedly  have  accomplished  much  more  of  per- 
manent importance  if  he  had  not  written  every  one  of  his  books, 
in  the  first  instance,  as  a  set  of  lectures  which  he  delivered  before 
some  dozen  mixed  audiences. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  must  not  suppose  that  these  lectures 
before  educational  institutions  are  all  nastily  and  mechanically 


39o  THE  AMERICANS 

produced.  If  the  lectures  were  so  trivial  their  preparation  would 
demand  little  energy,  and  their  delivery  would  much  less  satisfy 
the  ambition  of  those  who  write  them;  and  so,  on  both  accounts, 
they  would  be  much  less  dangerous  for  the  highest  productiveness 
of  their  authors.  The  level  is  really  extremely  high.  Even  the 
audience  of  the  smallest  town  is  rather  pampered;  it  demands  the 
most  finished  personal  address  and  a  certain  tinge  of  individuality 
in  the  exposition.  And  so  even  this  form  of  production  redounds 
somewhat  to  the  intellectual  life  of  the  nation.  The  often  repeated 
attempt  to  depict  some  phase  of  reality,  uniquely  and  completely 
in  a  one-hour  lecture,  or  to  elucidate  a  problem  in  such  a  short  time, 
leads  necessarily  to  a  mastery  in  the  art  of  the  essay.  Success  in  this 
line  is  made  easier  by  the  marked  feeling  for  form  which  the 
American  possesses.  In  a  surprisingly  large  number  of  American 
books,  the  chapters  read  like  well-rounded  and  complete  addresses. 
The  book  is  really  a  succession  of  essays,  and  if  one  looks  more 
carefully,  one  will  often  discover  that  each  one  was  obviously 
first  thought  out  as  a  lecture.  Thus  the  entire  system  of  popular 
education  by  means  of  lectures  has  worked,  beyond  doubt,  harm- 
fully on  creative  production,  but  favourably  on  the  development 
of  artistic  form  in  scientific  exposition,  on  the  art  of  essay,  and  on 
the  popular  dissemination  of  natural  and  social  sciences  and  of 
history  and  economics  most  of  all. 

If  one  wished  to  push  the  inquiry  further,  and  to  ask  whether 
these  advantages  outweigh  the  disadvantages,  the  American 
would  decline  to  discuss  the  problem  within  these  limits;  since 
the  prime  factor,  which  is  the  effect  on  the  masses  who  are  seeking 
cultivation,  would  be  left  out  of  account.  The  work  of  the  scholar 
is  not  to  be  estimated  solely  with  reference  to  science  or  to  its 
practical  effects,  but  always  with  reference  to  the  people's  need 
for  self-perfection.  And  even  if  pure  science  in  its  higher  soarings 
were  to  suffer  thereby,  the  American  would  say  that  in  science, 
as  everywhere  else,  it  is  not  a  question  of  brilliant  achievements, 
but  of  moral  values.  For  the  totality  of  the  nation,  he  would  say, 
it  is  morally  better  to  bring  serious  intellectual  awakenings  into 
every  quiet  corner  of  the  land,  than  to  inscribe  a  few  great  achieve- 
ments on  the  tablets  of  fame.  Such  is  the  sacrifice  which  democ- 
racy demands.  And  yet  to-day  the  pendulum  begins  very 
slowly  to  swing  back.  A  certain  division  of  labour  is  creeping  in 


THE  SCHOOLS  39i 

whereby  productive  and  reproductive  activities  are  more  clearly 
distinguished,  and  the  best  intellectual  energies  are  reserved  for 
the  highest  sort  of  work,  and  saved  from  being  wasted  on  merely 
trivial  tasks. 

But  even  the  effect  on  the  masses  has  not  been  wholly  favour- 
able. We  have  seen  how  superficiality  has  been  greatly  en- 
couraged. It  is,  indeed,  an  artificial  feeding-ground  for  that 
immodesty  which  we  see  to  spring  up  so  readily  in  a  political 
democracy,  and  which  gives  out  its  opinion  on  all  questions 
without  being  really  informed.  To  be  sure,  there  is  no  lack  of 
admiration  for  what  is  great;  on  the  contrary,  such  admiration 
becomes  often  hysterical.  But  since  it  is  not  based  on  any  suffi- 
cient knowledge,  it  remains  after  all  undiscriminating;  the  man 
who  admires  without  understanding,  forms  a  judgment  where 
he  should  decline  to  take  any  attitude  at  all.  It  may  be,  indeed, 
that  the  village  population  under  the  influence  of  the  last  lecture 
course  is  talking  about  Cromwell  and  Elizabeth  instead  of  about 
the  last  village  scandal;  but  if  the  way  in  which  it  talks  has  not 
been  modified,  one  cannot  say  that  a  change  of  topic  signifies  any 
elevation  of  standard.  And  if,  indeed,  the  village  is  still  to 
gossip,  it  xwill  seem  to  many  more  modest  and  more  amiable  if  it 
gossips  about  some  indifferent  neighbour,  and  not  about  Cromwell. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  must  not  fail  to  recognize  that,  especially 
in  the  large  institutions,  as  the  Chautauquas,  and  in  the  university 
extension  courses  and  the  summer  schools,  everything  possible  is 
done  to  escape  this  constant  danger.  In  the  first  place,  the  single 
lectures  are  very  much  discouraged,  and  a  course  of  six  to  twenty 
lectures  rather  is  given  on  a  single  topic;  then  the  written  exami- 
nations, with  their  certificates,  and  finally,  the  constant  guidance 
in  private  reading  have  their  due  effect.  Indeed,  the  sm.allest 
women's  club  is  particular  to  put  before  its  members  the  very 
best  books  which  relate  to  the  subjects  of  their  lectures;  and 
smaller  groups  are  generally  formed  to  study  carefully  through 
together  some  rather  large  treatise. 

The  total  amount  of  actual  instruction  and  intellectual  inspira- 
tion coming  to  the  people  outside  of  the  schools,  is,  in  these 
ways,  immeasurable.  And  the  disadvantages  of  superficiality  are 
somewhat  outweighed  by  a  great  increase  and  enrichment  of 
personality.  Of  course,  one  could  ask  whether  this  traditional 


392  THE  AMERICANS 

way  is  really  the  shortest  to  its  goal.  Some  may  think  that  the 
same  expenditure  of  time  and  energy  would  give  a  better  result 
if  it  were  made  on  a  book  rather  than  on  a  course  of  lectures. 
Yet  the  one  does  not  exclude  the  other.  Hearing  the  lecture 
incites  to  the  reading  of  the  book;  and  nowhere  is  more  reading 
done  than  in  the  United  States.  There  is  one  other  different 
and  quite  important  factor  in  the  situation.  The  man  who  reads 
is  isolated,  and  any  personal  influence  is  suppressed.  At  a 
lecture,  on  the  other  hand,  the  peculiarly  personal  element  is 
brought  to  the  front,  both  in  the  speaker  and  in  the  hearer  —  the 
spoken  word  touches  so  much  more  immediately  and  vitally  than 
the  printed  word,  and  gives  to  thought  an  individual  colouring. 
Most  of  all,  the  listener  is  much  more  personally  appealed  to  than 
the  reader;  his  very  presence  in  the  hall  is  a  public  announcement 
of  his  participation.  He  feels  himself  called,  with  the  other 
hearers,  to  a  common  task.  And  in  this  way  a  moral  motive  is 
added  to  the  intellectual.  They  both  work  together  to  fill  the 
life  of  every  man  with  the  desire  for  culture.  Perchance  the 
impersonal  book  may  better  satisfy  the  personal  desire  for  self- 
perfection,  and  yet  the  lecture  will  be  more  apt  to  keep  it  alive 
and  strengthen  it  as  a  force  in  character  and  in  life. 

It  is  indifferent  whether  this  system  of  popular  education, 
these  lectures  before  the  public,  has  really  brought  with  it 
the  greatest  possible  culture  and  enlightenment.  It  is  at  least 
clear  that  they  have  spread  everywhere  the  most  profound  desire 
for  culture  and  enlightenment,  and  for  this  reason  they  have 
been  the  necessary  system  for  a  people  so  informed  with  the 
spirit  of  individual  self-perfection. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

The  Universities 

WHEN  American  industry  began,  a  short  time  ago,  to  dis- 
turb European  circles,  people  very  much  exaggerated  the 
danger,  because  the  event  was  so  entirely  unexpected.  The 
"  American  peril"  was  at  the  door  before  any  one  knew  about  it, 
or  even  supposed  that  America  really  possessed  an  industry  which 
amounted  to  anything.  It  will  not  be  long  before  Europe  will 
experience  a  like  surprise  in  the  intellectual  sphere.  A  great 
work  will  certainly  appear,  as  if  accomplished  in  a  moment, 
before  any  one  supposes  that  America  so  much  as  dreams  of 
science  and  investigation.  At  the  time,  people  tardily  said  to  them- 
selves that  such  industry  could  only  have  been  built  on  firm 
rock,  and  never  would  have  been  able  to  spring  up  if  American 
economic  life  had  really  been  founded,  as  was  then  supposed,  on 
avarice  and  corruption.  And  similarly,  in  the  intellectual  sphere, 
people  will  have  to  trace  things  back,  and  say  in  retrospect  that 
such  achievements  could  not  be  brought  forth  suddenly,  and  that 
serious  and  competent  scientific  work  throughout  the  country 
must  really  have  gone  before.  It  is  not  here,  in  this  world  of 
intellectual  labour,  as  in  the  economic  world;  there  is  no  question 
of  threatening  rivalry,  there  is  no  scientific  competition ;  there  is 
nothing  but  co-operation.  And  yet  even  here  no  people  can, 
without  danger  to  its  own  achievements,  afford  to  ignore  what 
another  nation  has  done.  The  sooner  that  Europe,  and  in  par- 
ticular Germany,  acquaints  itself  with  the  intellectual  life  of 
America,  so  much  more  organically  and  profitably  the  future 
labour  in  common  will  develop.  For  any  one  who  knows  the  real 
situation  can  already  realize,  without  the  gift  of  prophecy,  that 
in  science  more  than  in  other  spheres  the  future  will  belong  to 
these  two  countries. 


394  THE  AMERICANS 

On  the  part  of  Germany  to-day  there  prevails  an  almost  dis- 
couraging ignorance  of  everything  which  pertains  to  American 
universities;  and  we  may  say,  at  once,  that  if  we  speak  of  science 
we  shall  refer  to  nothing  but  the  universities.  As  in  Germany, 
so  it  is  in  the  United  States,  in  sharp  and  notable  contrast  to 
France  and  England,  that  the  academic  teacher  is  the  real  priest 
of  science.  In  England  and  France,  it  is  not  customary  for  the 
great  investigator  to  be  at  the  same  time  the  daily  teacher  of 
youth.  In  America  and  Germany  he  is  exactly  this.  America 
has,  to  be  sure,  historians  and  national  economists  like  Rhodes, 
Lodge,  Roosevelt,  Schouler,  and  others  who  are  outside  of  aca- 
demic circles;  and  very  many  lawyers,  doctors  and  preachers,  who 
are  scientifically  productive;  and  her  most  conspicuous  physicists, 
so  far  as  reputation  goes,  like  Edison,  Bell,  Tesla,  and  so  many 
others,  are  advancing  science  indirectly  through  their  discoveries 
and  inventions.  Strictly  speaking,  the  officials  of  the  scientific 
institutions  at  Washington  are  likewise  outside  of  the  universities, 
and  the  greatest  intellectual  efficiency  has  always  been  found 
among  these  men.  Nevertheless,  it  remains  true  that  on  the 
whole,  the  scientific  life  of  the  nation  goes  on  in  the  universities, 
and  that  the  academic  instruction  conveyed  there  is  the  most 
powerful  source  of  strength  to  the  entire  American  people. 

The  German  still  has  no  confidence  in  American  science,  is 
fond  of  dwelling  on  the  amusing  newspaper  reports  of  Western 
"universities"  which  are  often  equivalent  to  a  German  Sekunda, 
or  on  those  extraordinary  conditions  which  prevailed  "a  short 
time  ago"  in  the  study  of  medicine.  This  "short  time  ago" 
means,  however,  in  the  intellectual  life  of  Germany  an  entirely 
different  length  of  time  from  that  which  it  means  in  the  New 
World.  One  is  almost  tempted  to  compare  the  intellectual 
development  of  Germany  and  America  by  epochs  in  order  to  get 
a  proper  means  of  comparing  intervals  of  time  in  these  respective 
countries.  The  primitive  times  of  the  Germans,  from  the  days 
of  Tacitus  down  to  their  conversion  to  Christianity  under  Charle- 
magne in  about  the  year  800,  would  correspond,  then,  to  the  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years  from  the  discovery  of  America  up  to  the 
beginning  of  the  Puritan  era  in  1630.  The  next  period  would 
embrace  in  Germany  seven  hundred  years  more  —  up  to  the  time 
when  Germany  freed  itself  from  Rome.  In  America  this  would  be 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  395 

again  a  century  and  a  half,  up  to  1776,  when  the  nation  freed  itself 
from  England.  Then  follow  after  the  Reformation  during  a  period 
of  three  hundred  years,  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  the  Renaissance  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  the  downfall  of  the  Napoleonic  influence, 
and,  finally,  the  war  for  freedom.  And  once  again  the  correspond- 
ing intervals  on  this  side  of  the  ocean  have  been  of  very  much 
shorter  duration;  firstly  years  of  war,  then  the  aesthetic  rise  in  the 
middle  of  the  century,  then  the  sufferings  of  the  Civil  War,  the 
period  of  reconstruction,  and,  finally,  peace.  After  1813  a  new 
period  commences,  which  ends  in  1870  with  the  German  amalga- 
mation into  a  nation.  Historically  incomparable  with  Germany's 
great  war  against  the  French,  America  had  in  1898  an  insignificant 
war  with  Spain;  but  for  the  national  consciousness  of  the  Ameri- 
cans it  played,  perhaps,  no  less  important  a  role.  In  fact,  there 
began  at  that  time  probably  a  certain  culmination  in  American 
intellectual  development  which  in  its  six  years  is  comparable  in 
effect  with  what  the  Germans  went  through  during  several  dec- 
ades after  the  Franco-Prussian  War.  Indeed,  all  that  happened 
in  America  a  hundred  years  ago  is  felt  to  lie  as  far  back  as  the 
events  which  took  place  in  Germany  three  hundred  years  ago; 
and,  in  matters  of  higher  education  and  scientific  research,  condi- 
tions have  probably  changed  more  in  the  last  ten  years  than  they 
have  changed  during  fifty  years  in  Germany. 

The  many  false  ideas,  however,  depend  for  credence,  so  far  as 
they  have  any  foundation,  not  alone  on  the  reports  of  the  previ- 
ous condition  of  things,  but  also  on  misleading  accounts  of  the 
conditions  to-day.  For  even  the  best-intentioned  narrator  is  very 
apt  to  be  misled,  because  he  finds  it  so  hard  to  free  himself  from 
ordinary  German  conceptions.  The  position  of  the  German 
schools  of  higher  education  is  so  easily  grasped,  while  that  in 
America  is  so  complicated,  that  the  German  is  always  tempted 
to  bring  clearness  and  order  into  what  he  sees  as  confusion,  by 
forcing  it  into  the  simple  scheme  to  which  he  is  accustomed,  and 
thus  to  misunderstand  it. 

The  German  traveller  is  certain  to  start  from  the  distinction  so 
familiar  to  him  between  the  Gymnasium  and  the  university  with 
four  faculties,  and  he  always  contents  himself  with  making  but 
one  inquiry:  "Is  this  institution  a  university  with  four  faculties  ?" 
And  when  he  is  told  that  it  is  not,  he  is  convinced  to  his  entire 


396  THE  AMERICANS 

satisfaction  that  it  is  therefore  only  a  Gymnasium.  Indeed,  very 
many  of  the  educated  Germans  who  have  lived  in  America  for 
some  decades  would  still  know  no  better;  and,  nevertheless,  the 
conditions  are  really  not  complicated  until  one  tries  to  make 
them  fit  into  this  abstract  German  scheme.  The  principle  of 
gradations  which  is  manifest  in  all  American  institutions  is  in 
itself  fully  as  simple  as  the  German  principle  of  sharp  demarca- 
tions. Most  foreigners  do  not  even  go  so  far  as  to  ask  whether 
a  given  institution  is  a  university.  They  are  quite  content  to 
find  out  whether  the  word  university  is  a  part  of  its  name.  If 
they  then  ascertain  from  the  catalogue  that  the  studies  are  about 
the  same  as  those  which  are  drilled  into  the  pupils  of  a  Sekunda, 
they  can  attest  the  shameful  fact:  "There  are  no  universities  in 
America  to  be  in  any  wise  compared  with  the  German  uni- 
versities." 

In  the  first  place,  it  should  be  said  that  the  word  "university" 
is  not  used  in  America  in  the  same  sense  as  in  Germany,  but 
is  almost  completely  interchangeable  with  the  word  "college," 
as  a  rather  colorless  addition  to  the  proper  name  of  any  institu- 
tion whatsoever,  so  long  only  as  its  curriculum  goes  beyond 
that  of  the  high  school,  and  so  long  also  as  it  is  not  exclusively 
designed  to  train  ministers  of  the  gospel,  doctors,  or  lawyers.  A 
higher  school  for  medical  instruction  is  called  a  "  medical  school, " 
and  there  are  similarly  "law  schools"  and  "divinity  schools," 
whereas,  in  the  college  or  university,  as  the  term  is  generally  used, 
these  three  subjects  are  not  taught.  College  is  the  older  word, 
and  since  the  institutions  in  the  East  are  in  general  the  older 
ones,  the  name  college  has  been  and  still  is  in  that  region  the 
more  common.  But  in  the  West,  where  in  general  the  institutions 
are  on  a  considerably  lower  level,  the  newer  name  of  university 
is  the  more  usual.  No  confusion  necessarily  arises  from  this, 
since  the  institutions  which  are  styled  now  college  and  now  uni- 
versity represent  countless  gradations,  and  the  general  term  is 
without  special  significance.  No  one  would  think  of  saying  that 
when  he  was  young  he  went  to  a  university,  any  more  than  he 
would  say  that  on  a  journey  he  visited  a  city.  In  order  to  make 
the  statement  entirely  clear,  he  would  add  the  explicit  name  of 
the  institution.  Every  specialist  knows  that  a  man  who  has 
spent  four  years  in  Taylor  University  in  Indiana  or  at  Blackburn 


THE  UNIVERSITIES 

University  in  Illinois,  or  at  Leland  University  in  Louisiana,  or 
at  other  similar  "universities,"  will  not  be  nearly  so  well  educated 
as  a  man  who  has  been  to  Yale  College  or  Princeton  College  or 
Columbia  College.  The  proper  name  is  the  only  significant 
designation,  and  the  addition  of  "college"  or  "university"  tells 
nothing. 

Out  of  this  circumstance  there  has  independently  developed,  in 
recent  years  in  pedagogical  circles,  a  second  sense  for  the  word 
"university."  By  "university"  there  is  coming  to  be  under- 
stood an  institution  which  is  not  only  a  college  or  a  university 
in  the  old  sense,  but  which  furthermore  has  various  professional 
schools.  Even  in  this  sense  of  the  word,  it  is  not  exactly  the  same 
as  the  German  conception,  since  such  an  institution  includes  the 
college,  whereas  there  is  nothing  in  Germany  which  would  cor- 
respond to  this  collegiate  department.  Moreover,  here  belongs 
also  a  part  of  what  the  Germans  have  only  in  the  technological 
institute.  Finally,  there  is  one  more  usage  which  arises  in  a 
way  from  a  confusion  of  the  two  that  we  have  mentioned. 
Some  persons  are  inclined  to  mean  by  "university"  a  first-class 
college,  and  by  "college"  an  institution  of  an  inferior  standard; 
and  so,  finally,  the  proper  name  of  the  institution  is  the  only  thing 
to  go  by,  and  the  entire  higher  system  of  education  in  the  country 
can  be  understood  only  in  this  way. 

Therefore,  we  shall  abstract  from  the  designations  of  these 
institutions,  and  consider  only  what  they  really  are.  We  have 
before  us  the  fact  that  hundreds  of  higher  institutions  of  learn- 
ing exist  without  any  sharp  demarcation  between  them;  that 
is,  they  form  a  closely  graded  scale,  commencing  with  secondary 
schools  and  leading  up  to  universities,  of  which  some  are  in 
many  respects  comparable  with  the  best  institutions  of  Germany. 
In  the  second  place,  the  groupings  of  the  studies  in  these  insti- 
tutions are  entirely  different  from  those  which  prevail  in  Ger- 
many, especially  owing  to  the  fact  that  emphasis  is  laid  on  the 
college,  which  Germany  does  not  have.  It  could  not  be  different; 
and  this  condition  is,  in  fact,  the  patent  of  American  success.  If 
we  try  to  understand  the  conditions  of  to-day  from  those  of  yester- 
day, the  real  unity  of  this  system  comes  out  sharply.  What  was, 
then,  we  have  to  ask,  the  national  need  for  higher  instruction  at 
the  time  when  these  states  organized  themselves  into  one  nation  ? 


398  THE  AMERICANS 

In  the  first  place,  the  people  had  to  have  preachers,  while  it 
was  clear,  nevertheless,  that  the  state,  and  therefore  the  entire 
political  community,  was  independent  of  any  church,  and  must 
never  show  any  favour  to  one  sect  over  another.  And  so  it  became 
the  duty  of  each  separate  sect  to  prepare  its  own  preachers  for  their 
religious  careers  as  well  or  as  badly  as  it  was  able.  The  people, 
again,  had  to  have  lawyers  and  judges.  Now  the  judges,  in 
accordance  with  the  democratic  spirit,  were  elected  from  the 
people,  and  every  man  had  the  right  to  plead  his  own  case  in 
court  :  —  so  that  if  any  man  proposed  to  educate  and  prepare  him- 
self to  plead  other  men's  cases  for  them,  it  was  his  own  business 
to  give  himself  the  proper  education  and  not  the  business  of  the 
community.  He  had  to  become  an  apprentice  under  experienced 
attorneys,  and  the  community  had  not  to  concern  itself  in  the 
matter,  nor  even  to  see  to  it  that  such  technical  preparation  was 
grounded  on  real  learning.  School-teachers  were  necessary,  but 
in  order  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  times  it  was  hardly  neces- 
sary for  the  teacher  to  go  in  his  own  studies  very  much  beyond 
the  members  of  his  classes.  A  few  more  years  of  training  than 
could  be  had  in  the  public  schools  was  desirable,  but  there  was 
no  thought  of  scholarship  or  science.  On  the  lowest  level  of  all, 
a  hundred  years  ago,  stood  the  science  of  medicine.  It  was  a 
purely  practical  occupation,  of  which  anybody  might  learn  the 
technique  without  any  special  training.  He  might  be  an  appren- 
tice with  some  older  physician,  or  he  might  pick  it  up  in  a  number 
of  other  ways. 

As  soon  as  we  have  understood  the  early  conditions  in  this  way, 
we  can  see  at  once  how  they  would  have  further  to  develop.  It 
is  obvious  that  in  their  own  interests  the  sects  would  have  to 
found  schools  for  preachers.  The  administrators  of  justice 
would  of  course  consult  together  and  found  schools  of  law,  in 
which  every  man  who  paid  his  tuition  might  be  prepared  for  the 
legal  career.  Doctors  would  have  to  come  together  and  found 
medical  schools  which,  once  more,  every  one  with  a  public  school 
training  would  be  free  to  attend.  Finally,  the  larger  communi- 
ties would  feel  the  necessity  of  having  schools  for  training  their 
teachers.  In  all  this  the  principle  of  social  selection  would  have 
to  enter  in  at  once.  Since  there  were  no  formal  provisions  which 
might  prescribe  and  fix  standards  of  excellence,  so  everything 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  399 

would  be  regulated  by  the  laws  of  supply  and  demand.  The 
schools  which  could  furnish  successful  lawyers,  doctors,  teachers, 
and  clergymen  would  become  prosperous,  while  the  others  would 
lead  a  modest  existence  or  perhaps  disappear.  It  would  not  be, 
however,  merely  a  question  of  the  good  or  bad  schools,  but  of 
schools  having  entirely  different  standards,  and  these  adapted 
to  purely  local  conditions.  The  older  states  would,  of  course, 
demand  better  things  than  the  new  pioneer  states;  thickly  settled 
localities  would  fix  higher  requirements  than  rural  districts;  rich 
districts  higher  than  poor.  In  this  way  some  schools  would  have 
a  longer  course  of  study  than  others,  and  some  schools  demand 
more  previous  training  as  a  condition  of  entrance  than  others. 
So  it  would  soon  come  to  mean  nothing  to  say  simply  that  one 
had  taken  the  legal,  or  medical,  or  theological  course,  as  the  one 
school  might  offer  a  four  years'  course  and  the  other  a  course  of 
two  years,  and  the  one,  moreover,  might  demand  college  training 
as  preparation,  and  the  other  merely  a  grammar-school  educa- 
tion. Every  school  has  its  own  name,  and  this  name  is  the 
only  thing  which  characterizes  its  standard  of  excellence.  In  this 
way  there  is  no  harm  at  all  if  there  are  three  or  four  medical 
schools  in  one  city,  and  if  their  several  diplomas  of  graduation 
are  of  entirely  different  value. 

What  is  the  result  of  this  ?  It  is  a  threefold  one.  In  the  first 
place,  popular  initiative  is  stimulated  to  the  utmost,  and  every 
person  and  every  institution  is  encouraged  to  do  its  best.  There 
are  no  formal  regulations  to  hamper  enterprising  impulses,  to 
keep  back  certain  more  advanced  regions,  or  to  approve  medioc- 
rity with  an  artificial  seal  of  authority.  In  the  second  place, 
technical  education  is  able  to  adapt  itself  thoroughly  to  all  the 
untold  local  factors,  and  to  give  to  every  region  such  schools  of 
higher  training  as  it  needs,  without  pulling  down  any  more 
advanced  sections  of  the  country  to  an  artificially  mediocre  level 
more  adapted  to  the  whole  country.  In  the  third  place,  the  free 
competition  between  the  different  institutions  insures  their 
ceaseless  progress.  There  are  no  hard  and  fixed  boundary  lines, 
and  whatsoever  does  not  advance  surely  recedes;  that  which 
leads  to-day  is  surpassed  to-morrow  if  it  does  not  adapt  itself  to 
the  latest  requirements.  This  is  true  both  as  regards  the  quality 
of  the  teachers  and  their  means  of  instruction,  as  regards  the 


4.oo  THE  AMERICANS 

length  of  the  course,  and  more  especially  the  conditions  of  entrance. 
These  last  have  steadily  grown  throughout  the  country.  Fifty 
years  ago  the  very  best  institutions  in  the  most  advanced  portions 
of  the  country  demanded  no  more  for  entrance  than  the  pro- 
fessional schools  of  third  class  situated  in  more  rural  regions 
demand  to-day.  And  this  tendency  goes  steadily  onward  day  by 
day.  If  there  were  any  great  departures  made,  the  institutions 
would  be  disintegrated;  the  schools  which  prepare  pupils  would 
not  be  able  suddenly  to  come  up  to  new  requirements,  and 
therefore  few  scholars  would  be  able  to  prepare  for  greatly  modi- 
fied entrance  examinations.  In  this  way,  between  the  conserva- 
tive holding  to  historic  traditions  and  the  striving  to  progress  and 
to  exceed  other  institutions  by  the  highest  possible  efficiency,  a 
compromise  is  brought  about  which  results  in  a  gradual  but  not 
over-hasty  improvement. 

We  have  so  far  entirely  left  out  of  account  the  state.  We  can 
speak  here  only  of  the  individual  state.  The  country  as  a  whole 
has  as  little  to  do  with  higher  education  as  with  lower.  But  the 
single  state  has,  in  fact,  a  significant  task  —  indeed,  a  double  one. 
Since  it  aims  at  no  monopoly,  but  rather  gives  the  freest  play  to 
individual  initiative,  we  have  recognized  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciple that  restrictions  are  placed  nowhere.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
becomes  the  duty  of  the  state  to  lend  a  helping  hand  wherever 
private  activities  have  been  found  insufficient.  This  can  happen 
in  two  ways:  either  the  state  may  help  to  support  private  in- 
stitutions which  already  exist,  or  it  may  establish  new  ones  of  its 
own,  which  in  that  case  offer  free  tuition  to  the  sons  and  daugh- 
ters of  all  taxpayers.  These  so-called  state  universities  are,  in  a 
way,  the  crowning  feature  of  the  free  public  school  system. 
Wherever  they  exist,  the  sons  of  farmers  have  the  advantage  of 
free  instruction  from  the  kindergarten  to  the  degree  of  doctor  of 
philosophy. 

Now  private  initiative  is  weakest  where  the  population  is  poor 
or  stands  on  a  low  level  of  culture,  so  that  few  can  be  found  to 
contribute  sufficient  funds  to  support  good  institutions,  and  at 
the  same  time  the  rich  citizens  of  these  less  advanced  states  prefer 
to  send  their  children  to  the  universities  of  the  most  advanced 
states.  The  result  is,  and  this  is  what  is  hardest  for  the  foreigner 
to  understand,  that  the  higher  institutions  of  learning  which  are 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  401 

subsidized  by  the  state  stand  for  a  grade  of  culture  inferior  to  that 
of  the  private  institutions,  and  that  not  only  the  leading  universi- 
ties, like  Harvard,  Columbia,  Johns  Hopkins,  Yale,  Chicago,  Cor- 
nell, and  Stanford,  carry  on  their  work  without  the  help  of  the  state, 
but  also  that  the  leading  Eastern  States  pay  out  much  less  for 
higher  instruction  than  do  the  Western.  The  State  of  Massa- 
chusetts, which  stands  at  the  head  in  matters  of  education,  does 
not  give  a  cent  to  its  universities,  while  Ohio  entirely  supports 
the  Ohio  State  University  and  gives  aid  to  six  other  institutions. 

The  second  task  of  the  states  in  educational  matters  is  shared 
alike  by  all  of  them;  the  state  supervises  all  instruction,  and,  more 
than  that,  the  state  legislature  confers  on  the  individual  institution 
the  right  to  award  grades,  diplomas,  and  degrees  to  its  students. 
No  institution  may  change  its  organization  without  a  civil  permit. 
As  culture  has  advanced  the  state  has  found  it  necessary  to  make 
the  requirements  in  the  various  professional  schools  rather  high. 
In  practice,  once  more,  a  continual  compromise  has  been  necessary 
between  the  need  to  advance  and  the  desire  to  stay,  by  traditions 
which  have  been  proved  and  tried  and  found  practical.  Here, 
once  again,  any  universal  scheme  of  organization  would  have 
destroyed  everything.  If  a  high  standard  had  been  fixed  it 
would  have  hindered  private  initiative,  and  given  a  set-back  to 
Southern  and  Western  states  and  robbed  them  of  the  impulses  to 
development.  A  lower  universal  standard,  on  the  other  hand, 
would  have  impeded  the  advance  of  the  more  progressive  portions 
of  the  country.  Therefore  the  various  state  governments  have 
taken  a  happy  middle  position  in  these  matters,  and  their  re- 
sponsibility for  the  separate  institutions  has  been  made  even  less 
complete  in  that  the  degrees  of  these  institutions  carry  in  them- 
selves no  actual  rights.  Every  state  has  its  own  laws  for  the 
admission  of  a  lawyer  to  its  bar,  or  to  the  public  practice  of 
medicine,  and  it  is  only  to  a  small  degree  that  the  diplomas  of 
professional  schools  are  recognized  as  equivalent  to  a  state 
examination. 

The  history  of  the  professional  schools  for  lawyers,  ministers, 
teachers,  and  physicians  in  America  is  by  no  means  the  history  of 
the  universities.  We  have  so  far  left  out  of  account  the  college, 
which  is  the  nucleus  of  American  education.  Let  us  now  go 
back  to  it.  We  saw  in  the  beginning  of  the  development  of  these 


+02  THE  AMERICANS 

states  a  social  community  in  which  preparation  for  the  profes- 
sions of  teaching,  preaching,  law  or  medicine  implied  a  technical 
and  specialized  training,  which  every  one  could  obtain  for  him- 
self without  any  considerable  preparation.  There  was  no  thought 
of  a  broad,  liberal  education.  Now,  to  be  sure,  the  level  of 
scholarship  required  for  entrance  into  the  professional  schools 
has  steadily  risen,  the  duration  and  character  of  the  instruction 
has  been  steadily  improved;  but  even  to-day  the  impression  has 
not  faded  from  the  public  consciousness,  and  is  indeed  favoured 
by  the  great  differences  in  merit  between  the  special  schools, 
that  such  a  practical  introduction  to  the  treatment  of  disease, 
to  court  procedure,  the  mastery  of  technical  problems,  or  to  the 
art  of  teaching,  does  not  in  itself  develop  educated  men.  All 
this  is  specialized  professional  training,  which  no  more  broadens 
the  mind  than  would  the  professional  preparation  for  the  calling 
of  the  merchant  or  manufacturer  or  captain.  Whether  a  man 
who  is  prepared  for  his  special  career  is  also  an  educated  man, 
depends  on  the  sort  of  general  culture  that  he  has  become 
familiar  with.  It  is  thought  important  for  a  man  to  have  had  a 
liberal  education  before  entering  the  commercial  house  or  the 
medical  school,  but  it  is  felt  to  be  indifferent  whether  he  has  learned 
his  profession  at  the  stock  exchange  or  at  the  clinic. 

The  European  will  find  it  hard  to  follow  this  trend  of  thought. 
In  Europe  the  highest  institutions  of  learning  are  so  closely 
allied  to  the  learned  professions,  and  these  themselves  have  his- 
torically developed  so  completely  from  the  learned  studies,  that 
professional  erudition  and  general  culture  are  well-nigh  identical. 
And  the  general  system  of  distinctions  and  merits  favours  in  every 
way  the  learned  professions.  How  much  of  this,  however, 
springs  out  of  special  conditions  may  be  seen,  for  instance,  from 
the  fact  that  in  Germany  an  equal  social  position  is  given  to  the 
officer  of  the  army  and  to  the  scholar.  Even  the  American  is,  in 
his  way,  not  quite  consistent,  in  so  far  as  he  has  at  all  times 
honoured  the  profession  of  the  ministry  with  a  degree  of  esteem 
that  is  independent  of  the  previous  preparation  which  the 
minister  had  before  entering  his  theological  school.  This  fact 
has  come  from  the  leading  position  which  the  clergymen  held  in 
the  American  colonial  days,  and  the  close  relation  which  exists 
between  the  study  of  theology  and  general  philosophy. 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  403 

The  fact  that  by  chance  one  had  taken  the  profession  of  law, 
or  teaching,  or  medicine,  did  not  exalt  one  in  the  eyes  of  one's 
contemporaries  above  the  great  mass  of  average  citizens  who 
went  about  their  honest  business.  The  separation,  of  those  who 
were  called  to  social  leadership  was  seen  to  require,  therefore, 
some  principle  which  should  be  different  from  any  professional 
training.  At  this  point  we  come  on  yet  another  historical  factor. 
The  nation  grew  step  for  step  with  its  commercial  activities  and 
undertakings.  So  long  as  it  was  a  question  of  gaining  and  devel- 
oping new  territory,  the  highest  talent,  the  best  strength  and 
proudest  personalities  entered  the  service  of  this  nationally 
significant  work.  It  was  a  matter  of  course  that  no  secondary 
position  in  society  should  be  ascribed  to  these  captains  of  com- 
merce and  of  industry.  The  highest  degree  of  culture  which 
they  were  able  to  attain  necessarily  fixed  the  standard  of  culture 
for  the  whole  community;  and,  therefore,  the  traditional  concept 
of  the  gentleman  as  the  man  of  liberal  culture  and  refinement 
came  to  have  that  great  social  significance  which  was  reserved  in 
Germany  for  the  learned  professions. 

In  its  outer  form,  the  education  of  such  a  gentleman  was  bor- 
rowed from  England.  It  was  a  four  years'  course  coming  after 
the  high  school,  and  laying  special  stress  on  the  classical  lan- 
guages, philosophy,  and  mathematics  —  a  course  which,  up  to  the 
early  twenties,  kept  a  young  man  in  contact  with  the  fine  arts  and 
the  sciences,  with  no  thought  for  the  practical  earning  of  a  live- 
lihood; which,  therefore,  kept  him  four  years  longer  from  the 
tumult  of  the  world,  and  in  an  ideal  community  of  men  who  were 
doing  as  he  was  doing;  which  developed  him  in  work,  in  sport, 
in  morals  and  social  address.  Such  was  the  tradition;  the  insti- 
tution was  called  a  college  after  the  English  precedent.  Any  man 
who  went  to  college  belonged  to  the  educated  class,  and  it  was 
indifferent  what  profession  he  took  up;  no  studies  of  the 
professional  school  were  able  to  replace  a  college  education. 
Now,  it  necessarily  happened  that  the  endeavour  to  have  students 
enter  the  professional  schools  with  as  thorough  preparation  as 
possible  led  eventually  to  demand  of  every  one  who  undertook  a 
professional  course  the  complete  college  education.  In  fact,  this 
last  state  of  development  is  already  reached  in  the  best  institu- 
tions of  America.  For  instance,  in  Harvard  and  in  Johns  Hop- 


4.04.  THE  AMERICANS 

kins,  the  diploma  of  a  four  years'  college  course  is  demanded  for 
entrance  into  the  legal,  medical,  or  theological  faculty.  But  in 
popular  opinion  the  dividing  line  between  common  and  superior 
education  is  still  the  line  between  school  and  college,  and  not,  as  in 
Germany,  between  liberal  and  technical  institutions  of  learning. 
One  who  has  successfully  passed  through  college  becomes  a 
graduate,  a  gentleman  of  distinction;  he  has  the  degree  of  bachelor 
of  arts,  and  those  who  have  this  degree  are  understood  to  have 
had  a  higher  education. 

This  whole  complex  of  relations  is  reflected  within  the  col- 
lege itself.  It  is  supposed  to  be  a  four  years'  course  which 
comes  after  the  high  school,  and  we  have  seen  that  the  high 
school  itself  has  no  fixed  standard  of  instruction.  The  small 
prairie  college  may  be  no  better  than  the  Tertia  or  Sekunda  of  a 
German  Realschule,  while  the  large  and  influential  colleges  are 
certainly  not  at  all  to  be  compared  simply  with  German  schools, 
but  rather  with  the  German  Prima  of  a  Gymnasium,  together 
with  the  first  two  or  three  semesters  in  the  philosophical  faculty 
of  a  university.  Between  these  extremes  there  is  a  long,  sliding 
scale,  represented  by  over  six  hundred  colleges.  We  must  now 
bear  in  mind  that  the  college  was  meant  to  be  the  higher  school 
for  the  general  cultivation  of  gentlemen.  Of  course,  from  the 
outset  this  idealistic  demand  was  not  free  from  utilitarian  con- 
siderations; the  same  instruction  could  well  be  utilized  as  the 
most  appropriate  practical  training  of  the  school-teacher,  and  if 
so,  the  college  becomes  secondarily  a  sort  of  technical  school  for 
pedagogues.  But,  then,  in  the  same  way  as  the  entrance  into  legal 
and  medical  faculties  was  gradually  made  more  difficult,  until 
now  the  best  of  these  schools  demand  collegiate  preparation,  so 
also  did  the  training  school  for  teachers  necessarily  become  of 
more  and  more  professional  character,  until  it  gradually  quite  out- 
grew the  college.  The  culmination  is  a  philosophical  faculty 
which,  from  its  side,  presupposes  the  college,  and  which,  therefore, 
takes  the  student  about  where  a  German  student  enters  his  fourth 
semester  —  a  technical  school  for  specialized  critical  science  laying 
main  stress  on  seminaries,  laboratories,  and  lectures  for  advanced 
students.  Such  a  continuation  of  the  college  study  beyond  the 
time  of  college  —  that  is,  for  those  who  have  been  graduated  from 
college  —  is  called  a  graduate  school,  and  its  goal  is  the  degree  of 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  4.05 

doctor  of  philosophy.  The  graduate  school  is  in  this  way  par- 
allel with  the  law,  medical,  or  divinity  school,  which  likewise 
presuppose  that  their  students  have  been  graduated  from 
college. 

The  utilitarian  element  inevitably  affects  the  college  from 
another  side.  A  college  of  the  higher  type  will  not  be  a  school 
with  a  rigid  curriculum,  but  will  adapt  itself  more  or  less  to  the 
individuality  of  its  students.  If  it  is  really  to  give  the  most  it 
can,  it  must,  at  least  during  the  last  years  of  the  college  course,  be 
somewhat  like  a  philosophical  faculty,  and  allow  some  selection 
among  the  various  studies: —  so  that  every  man  can  best  perfect  his 
peculiar  talent  and  can  satisfy  his  inclinations  for  one  or  other 
sort  of  learning.  So  soon,  now,  as  such  academic  freedom  has  been 
instituted,  it  is  very  liable  to  be  used  for  utilitarian  purposes. 
The  future  doctor  and  the  future  lawyer  in  their  election  of  col- 
lege studies  will  have  the  professional  school  already  in  mind, 
and  will  be  preparing  themselves  for  their  professional  studies. 
The  lawyer  will  probably  study  more  history,  the  doctor  will 
study  biology,  the  theologian  languages,  the  future  manufac- 
turer may  study  physics,  the  banker  political  economy,  and 
the  politician  will  take  up  government.  And  so  the  ideal  training 
school  for  gentlemen  will  not  be  merely  a  place  for  liberal  educa- 
tion, but  at  the  same  time  will  provide  its  own  sort  of  untechnical 
professional  training. 

Inasmuch  as  everything  really  technical  is  still  excluded,  and 
the  majority  of  college  students  even  to-day  come  for  nothing 
more  than  a  liberal  education,  it  remains  true  that  the  college  is 
first  of  all  a  place  for  the  development  and  refinement  of  per- 
sonal character;  a  place  in  which  the  young  American  spends 
the  richest  and  happiest  years  of  his  life,  where  he  forms  his  friend- 
ships and  intellectual  preferences  which  are  to  last  throughout 
his  life,  and  where  the  narrow  confines  of  school  life  are  outgrown 
and  the  confines  of  professional  education  not  yet  begun;  where, 
in  short,  everything  is  broad  and  free  and  sunny.  For  the 
American  the  attraction  of  academic  life  is  wholly  centred  in 
the  college;  the  college  student  is  the  only  one  who  lives  the  true 
student  life.  Those  who  study  in  the  four  professional  faculties 
are  comparable  rather  to  the  German  medical  students  of  the 
last  clinical  semesters  —  sedate,  semi-professional  men.  The  col- 


406  THE  AMERICANS 

lege  is  the  soul  of  the  university.  The  college  is  to-day,  more 
than  ever,  the  soul  of  the  whole  nation. 

We  have  to  mention  one  more  factor,  and  we  shall  have  brought 
together  all  which  are  of  prime  importance.  We  have  seen  that 
the  professional  and  the  collegiate  schools  had  at  the  outset 
different  points  of  view,  and  were,  in  fact,  entirely  independent. 
It  was  inevitable  that  as  they  developed  they  should  come  into 
closer  and  closer  relations.  The  name  of  the  college  remained 
during  this  development  the  general  designation.  Special  facul- 
ties have  grouped  themselves  about  the  college,  while  a  common 
administration  keeps  them  together.  There  are  certain  local 
difficulties  in  this.  According  to  the  original  idea,  a  college  ought 
to  be  in  a  small,  rural,  and  attractively  situated  spot.  The  young 
man  should  be  removed  from  ordinary  conditions;  and  as  he 
goes  to  Jena,  Marburg,  and  Gottingen,  so  he  should  go  to  Prince- 
ton or  New  Haven,  or  Palo  Alto,  in  order  to  be  away  from  large 
cities  in  a  little  academic  world  which  is  inspired  only  by  the  glory 
of  famous  teachers  and  by  the  youthful  happiness  of  many 
student  generations.  A  medical  or  law  school,  on  the  other 
hand,  belongs,  according  to  American  tradition,  in  some  large 
city,  where  there  is  a  plenty  of  clinical  material  at  hand,  and  where 
great  attorneys  are  in  contact  with  the  courts.  It  so  happened 
that  the  college,  as  it  grew  up  into  a  complete  university,  was 
especially  favoured  if  it  happened  to  be  in  the  vicinity  of  a  large 
city,  like  Harvard  College  in  Cambridge,  which  had  all  the 
attractions  of  rural  quiet  and  nevertheless  was  separated  from 
the  large  city  of  Boston  only  by  the  Charles  River  bridge.  In 
later  times,  to  be  sure,  since  the  idyllic  side  of  college  life  is  every- 
where on  the  wane,  and  the  outward  equipment,  especially  of 
laboratories,  libraries,  etc.,  has  everywhere  to  grow,  it  is  a  notice- 
able advantage  for  even  collegiate  prosperity  to  have  the  resources 
of  a  large  city  at  hand.  And,  therefore,  the  institutions  in  these 
cities,  like  New  York,  Baltimore,  Chicago,  and  San  Francisco, 
develop  more  rapidly  than  many  colleges  which  were  once  famous 
but  which  lie  in  more  isolated  places. 

At  the  head  of  the  administration  there  is  always  a  president, 
a  man  whose  functions  are  something  between  those  of  a  Rektor 
and  a  Kultus-Minister,  most  nearly,  perhaps,  comparable  with  a 
Kurator,  and  yet  much  more  independent,  much  more  dictatorial. 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  4.07 

The  direction  of  the  university  is  actually  concentrated  in  his 
person,  and  the  rise  or  fall  of  the  institution  is  in  large  measure 
dependent  on  his  official  leadership.  In  olden  times  the  president 
was  almost  always  a  theologian,  and  at  the  same  time  was  apt  to 
be  professor  in  moral  philosophy.  This  is  true  to-day  of  none 
but  small  country  colleges,  and  even  there  the  Puritan  tradition 
disappears  as  financial  and  administrative  problems  come  to 
be  important.  The  large  universities  have  lately  come  almost 
always  to  place  a  professor  of  the  philosophical  faculty  at  their 
head.  Almost  invariably  these  are  men  of  liberal  endowments. 
Mostly  they  are  men  of  wide  outlook,  and  only  such  men  are  fit 
for  these  positions,  which  belong  to  the  most  influential  and  impor- 
tant in  the  country.  The  opinions  of  men  like  Eliot  of  Harvard, 
Hadley  of  Yale,  Butler  of  Columbia,  Shurman  of  Cornell,  Remsen 
of  Johns  Hopkins,  Wheeler  of  California,  Harper  of  Chicago, 
Jordan  of  Leland  Stanford,  Wilson  of  Princeton,  and  of  many 
others,  are  respected  and  sought  on  all  questions  of  public  life, 
even  in  matters  extending  far  beyond  education. 

The  university  president  is  elected  for  a  life  term  by  the  admin- 
istrative council  —  a  deliberative  body  of  men  who,  without  emolu- 
ments, serve  the  destinies  of  the  university,  and  in  a  certain  sense 
are  the  congress  of  the  university  as  compared  with  the  president. 
They  confirm  appointments,  regulate  expenditures,  and  theoreti- 
cally conduct  all  external  business  for  the  university,  although 
practically  they  follow  in  large  part  the  recommendations  of  the 
faculties.  The  teaching  body  is  composed  everywhere  of  pro- 
fessors, assistant  professors,  and  instructors.  All  these  receive  a 
fixed  stipend.  There  are  no  such  things  as  private  tuition  fees,  and 
unsalaried  teachers,  like  the  German  Privatdocenten,  are  virtually 
unknown.  The  instruction  consists,  in  general,  of  courses  lasting 
through  a  year  and  not  a  semester.  The  academic  year  begins,  in 
most  cases,  at  the  end  of  September  and  closes  at  the  end  of  June. 

During  his  four  years'  college  course  the  student  prefers  to 
remain  true  to  some  one  college.  If  this  is  a  small  institution,  he 
is  very  apt,  on  being  graduated,  to  attend  some  higher  institution. 
Even  the  students  in  professional  schools  generally  come  back 
year  after  year  to  the  same  school  till  they  finish  their  studies. 
It  is  only  in  the  graduate  school  — that  is,  the  German  philosophical 
faculty — that  migration  after  the  German  manner  has  come  in 


THE  AMERICANS 

fashion;  here,  in  fact,  the  student  frequently  studies  one  year 
here  and  one  year  there,  in  order  to  hear  the  best  specialists  in  his 
science.  Except  in  the  state  institutions  of  the  West,  the  student 
pays  a  round  sum  for  the  year;  in  the  larger  institutions  from 
one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  In  the  smaller 
colleges  the  four  years'  course  of  study  is  almost  wholly  prescribed, 
and  only  in  the  final  year  is  there  a  certain  freedom  of  choice. 
The  higher  the  college  stands  in  the  matter  of  scholarship,  so 
much  the  more  its  lecture  programme  approaches  that  of  a  univer- 
sity; and  in  the  foremost  colleges  the  student  is  from  the  very 
beginning  almost  entirely  free  in  his  selection  of  studies. 

A  freedom  in  electing  between  study  and  laziness  is  less  known. 
The  student  may  elect  his  own  lectures;  he  must,  however,  attend 
at  least  a  certain  number  of  these,  and  must  generally  show  in  a 
semi-annual  examination  that  he  has  spent  his  time  to  some  pur- 
pose. The  examinations  at  the  end  of  the  special  courses  are  in 
the  college  substituted  for  a  final  examination.  Any  man  receives 
a  degree  who  has  passed  the  written  examinations  in  a  certain 
number  of  courses.  The  examinations  concern  not  only  what  has 
actually  been  said  in  the  lectures,  but  at  the  same  time  try  to  bring 
out  how  much  the  student  has  learned  outside  in  the  way  of 
reading  text-books  and  searching  into  literature.  Originally  the 
students  roomed  in  college  buildings,  but  with  the  growth  of  these 
institutions  this  factor  of  college  life  has  declined.  In  the  larger 
universities  the  student  is,  in  matters  of  his  daily  life,  as  free  as 
the  German;  but  dwelling  in  college  dormitories  still  remains  the 
most  popular  mode  of  living,  since  it  lends  a  social  attraction 
to  academic  life. 

To  go  over  from  this  general  plan  to  a  more  concrete  presenta- 
tion, we  may  perhaps  sketch  briefly  a  picture  of  Harvard  College, 
the  oldest  and  largest  academy  in  the  country.  The  colony  of 
Massachusetts  established  in  1636  a  little  college  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  newly  founded  city  of  Boston.  The  place  was  called  Cam- 
bridge in  commemoration  of  the  English  college  in  which  some  of 
the  colonists  had  received  their  education.  When  in  1638  a  young 
English  minister,  John  Harvard,  left  this  little  academy  half  his 
fortune,  it  was  decided  to  name  the  college  for  its  first  benefactor. 
The  state  had  given  £400,  John  Harvard  about  £800.  The 
school  building  was  one  little  structure,  the  number  of  students 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  409 

was  very  small,  and  there  were  a  few  clergymen  for  teachers.  On 
the  same  spot  to-day  stands  Harvard  University,  like  a  little  city 
within  a  city,  with  fifty  ample  buildings,  with  550  members  of 
the  teaching  staff,  over  five  thousand  students,  with  a  regular 
annual  budget  of  a  million  and  a  half  dollars,  and  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  bequests  which  add  year  by  year  millions  to  its  regular 
endowments. 

This  growth  has  been  constant,  outwardly  and  inwardly;  and 
it  has  grown  in  power  and  in  freedom  in  a  way  that  well 
befits  the  spirit  of  American  institutions.  Since  the  colonial 
regime  of  the  seventeenth  century  gave  to  the  new  institution  a 
deliberative  body  of  seven  men  —  the  so-called  Corporation  —  this 
body  has  perpetuated  itself  without  interruption  down  to  the 
present  time  by  its  own  vote,  and  without  changing  any  principle 
of  its  constitution  has  developed  the  home  of  Puritanism  into  the 
theatre  of  the  freest  investigation,  and  the  school  into  a  great 
university  of  the  world. 

Now,  as  then,  there  stands  at  the  head  this  body  of  seven  mem- 
bers, each  of  whom  is  elected  for  life.  To  belong  to  this  is  es- 
teemed a  high  honour.  Beside  these,  there  is  the  board  of  over- 
seers of  thirty  members,  elected  by  the  graduates  from  among 
their  own  number.  Five  men  are  elected  every  June  to  hold 
office  for  six  years  in  this  advisory  council.  Every  Harvard  man, 
five  years  after  he  has  received  his  degree  of  bachelor,  has  the 
right  to  vote.  Every  appointment  and  all  policies  of  the  univer- 
sity must  be  confirmed  by  this  board  of  overseers.  Only  the 
best  sons  of  the  alma  mater  are  elected  to  this  body.  Thus  the 
university  administration  has  an  upper  and  lower  house,  and  it 
is  clear  that  with  such  closely  knit  internal  organization  the  destiny 
of  the  university  is  better  guarded  than  it  would  be  if  appointments 
and  expenditures  were  dependent  on  the  caprice  and  political 
intrigues  of  the  party  politicians  in  the  state  legislature.  Just 
on  this  account  Harvard  has  declined,  for  almost  a  hundred  years, 
all  aid  from  the  state;  although  this  was  once  customary.  On 
the  other  hand,  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that,  say  in 
contrast  with  Germany,  this  self-government  of  the  university 
implies  any  greater  administrative  rights  for  the  professors.  The 
German  professors  have  much  more  administrative  influence 
than  their  colleagues  in  America.  If,  indeed,  the  advice  of  the 


410  THE  AMERICANS 

professors  in  matters  of  new  appointments  or  promotions  is  impor- 
tant, nevertheless  the  administrative  bodies  are  in  no  wise  officially 
bound  to  follow  the  recommendations  of  the  faculty. 

The  president  of  the  university  is  Charles  W.  Eliot,  the  most 
distinguished  and  influential  personality  in  the  whole  intellectual 
life  of  America.  Eliot  comes  from  an  old  Puritan  family  of  New 
England.  He  was  a  professor  of  chemistry  in  his  thirty-fifth 
year;  and  his  essays  on  methods  of  instruction,  together  with  his 
talents  for  organization,  had  awakened  considerable  attention, 
when  the  overseers,  in  spite  of  lively  protestations  from  various 
sides,  were  prompted  by  keen  insight  in  the  year  1869  to  call  him 
to  this  high  office.  It  would  be  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  the 
tremendous  growth  of  Harvard  in  the  last  three  decades  is  wholly 
the  work  of  Eliot;  for  this  development  is,  first  of  all,  the  result  of 
that  remarkable  progress  which  the  intellectual  life  of  the  whole 
land  has  undergone.  But  the  fact  that  Harvard  during  all  this 
time  has  kept  in  the  very  front  rank  among  all  academic  institu- 
tions is  certainly  due  to  the  efforts  of  President  Eliot;  and  once 
again,  if  the  progress  at  Harvard  has  resulted  in  part  from  the 
scientific  awakening  of  the  whole  country,  this  national  movement 
was  itself  in  no  small  measure  the  work  of  the  same  man.  His 
influence  has  extended  out  beyond  the  boundaries  of  New  England 
and  far  beyond  all  university  circles,  and  has  made  itself  felt  in 
the  whole  educational  life  of  the  country.  He  was  never  a  man 
after  the  taste  of  the  masses;  his  quiet  and  distinguished  reserve 
are  too  cool  and  deliberate.  And  if  to-day,  on  great  occasions, 
he  is  generally  the  most  important  speaker,  this  is  really  a  tri- 
umph for  clear  and  solid  thought  over  the  mere  tricks  of  blatancy 
and  rhetoric.  Throughout  the  country  he  is  known  as  the  incom- 
parable master  of  short  and  pregnant  English. 

His  life  work  has  contained  nothing  of  the  spasmodic;  nor  have 
his  reforms  been  in  any  case  sudden  ones.  To  whatever  has  been 
necessary  he  has  consecrated  his  patient  energy,  going  fearlessly 
toward  the  goal  which  he  recognized  as  right,  and  moving  slowly 
and  surely  forward.  Year  by  year  he  has  exerted  an  influence  on 
the  immediate  circles  of  his  community,  and  so  indirectly  on  the 
whole  land,  to  bring  up  the  conditions  for  entrance  into  college 
and  professional  schools  until  at  the  present  time  all  the  special 
faculties  of  Harvard  demand  as  an  entrance  requirement  a  com- 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  411 

plete  college  course.  He  has  made  Harvard  College  over  into  a 
modern  academy,  in  which  every  student  is  entirely  free  to  select 
the  course  of  studies  which  he  desires,  and  has  introduced  through 
the  entire  university  and  for  all  time,  the  spirit  of  impartial  investi- 
gation. Even  the  theological  faculty  has  grown  under  his  influence 
from  a  sectarian  institution  of  the  Unitarian  Church  into  a  non- 
sectarian  Christian  institution  in  which  future  preachers  of  every 
sect  are  able  to  obtain  their  preliminary  training.  And  this  in- 
defatigable innovator  is  to-day,  as  he  now  has  completed  his 
seventieth  year,  pressing  forward  with  youthful  energies  to  new 
goals.  Just  as  he  has  introduced  into  the  college  the  opportunity 
of  perfectly  free  specialization,  so  now  he  clearly  sees  that  if  a 
college  education  is  necessary  for  every  future  student  in  the 
special  departments  of  the  university,  that  the  college  course 
must  be  shortened  from  four  to  three  years,  or  in  other  words,  must 
be  compressed.  There  is  much  opposition  to  this  idea.  All 
traditions  and  very  many  apparently  weighty  arguments  seem  to 
speak  against  it.  Nevertheless,  any  student  of  average  intelli- 
gence and  energy  can  now  get  the  Harvard  A.  B.  in  three  years; 
before  long  this  will  be  the  rule,  and  in  a  short  time  the  entire 
country  will  have  followed  in  the  steps  of  this  reform. 

It  is  true  that  Eliot's  distinguished  position  has  contributed 
very  much  to  his  outward  success  —  that  position  which  he  has 
filled  for  thirty-five  years,  and  which  in  itself  guarantees  a  peculiar 
influence  on  academic  life.  But  the  decisive  thing  has  been  his 
personality.  He  is  enthusiastic  and  yet  conservative,  bold  and 
yet  patient,  always  glad  to  consider  the  objections  of  the  young- 
est teacher;  he  is  religious,  and  nevertheless  a  confident  exponent 
of  modern  science.  First  of  all,  he  is  through  and  through  an 
aristocrat:  his  interest  is  in  the  single,  gifted,  and  solid  per- 
sonality rather  than  in  the  masses;  and  his  conception  of  the  in- 
equality of  man  is  the  prime  motive  of  his  whole  endeavour.  But 
at  the  same  time  he  is  the  best  of  democrats,  for  he  lays  the 
greatest  stress  on  making  it  possible  for  the  earnest  spirit  to  press 
on  and  emerge  from  the  lowest  classes  of  the  people.  Harvard 
has  set  its  roots  as  never  before  through  the  whole  country,  and 
thereby  has  drawn  on  the  intellectual  and  moral  energies  of  the 
entire  nation. 

Under  the  president  come  the  faculties,  of  which  each  one  is 


412  THE  AMERICANS 

presided  over  by  a  dean.  The  largest  faculty  is  the  faculty  of 
arts  and  sciences,  whose  members  lecture  both  for  the  college 
and  for  the  Graduate  School.  There  is  really  no  sharp  distinction, 
and  the  announcement  of  lectures  says  merely  that  certain  elemen- 
tary courses  are  designed  for  younger  students  in  the  college,  and 
that  certain  others  are  only  for  advanced  students.  Moreover, 
the  seminaries  and  laboratory  courses  for  scientific  research  are 
open  only  to  students  of  the  Graduate  School.  The  rest  is  com- 
mon ground. 

As  always  happens,  the  faculty  includes  very  unlike  material, 
a  number  of  the  most  distinguished  investigators,  along  with 
others  who  are  first  of  all  teachers.  In  general,  the  older  gener- 
ation of  men  belongs  to  that  time  in  which  the  ability  to  teach 
was  thought  more  important  than  pure  scholarship.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  middle  generation  is  much  devoted  to  productive 
investigations.  The  youngest  generation  of  instructors  is  some- 
what divided.  A  part  holds  the  ideal  of  creative  research,  another 
part  is  in  a  sort  of  reactionary  mood  against  the  modern  high 
estimation  of  specialized  work;  and  has  rather  a  tendency  once 
more  to  emphasize  the  idealistic  side  of  academic  activity  —  the 
beauty  of  form  and  the  cultivating  value  of  belles-lettres  as  opposed 
to  the  dry  details  of  scholarship.  This  last  is  generally  accounted 
the  peculiar  work  of  German  influence,  and  in  opposition  to  this 
there  is  a  demand  for  Gallic  polish  and  that  scientific  connoisseur- 
ship  of  the  English  gentleman.  Since,  however,  these  men  are 
thinking  not  of  the  main  fact,  but  rather  of  certain  insignificant 
excrescences  of  German  work,  and  since  after  all  nothing  but  the 
real  work  of  investigation  can  lead  to  new  achievements  which 
justify  in  a  real  university  any  advancement  to  higher  academic 
positions,  there  is  no  ground  for  fearing  that  this  reactionary 
mood  will  exert  any  particularly  harmful  influence  on  more 
serious  circles  of  workers.  Such  a  movement  may  be  even  wel- 
comed as  a  warning  against  a  possible  ossification  of  science. 
Particularly  the  college  would  be  untrue  to  its  ideals,  if  it  were 
to  forget  the  humanities  in  favour  of  scientific  matters  of  fact. 

The  lectures  naturally  follow  the  principle  of  thorough-going 
specialization,  and  one  who  reads  the  Annual  Report  will  prob- 
ably be  surprised  to  discover  how  many  students  take  up  Assyrian 
or  Icelandic,  Old  Bulgarian,  or  Middle  Irish.  The  same  special- 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  413 

ization  is  carried  into  the  seminaries  for  the  advanced  students; 
thus,  for  instance,  in  the  department  of  philosophy,  there  are 
special  seminaries  for  ethics,  psychology,  metaphysics,  logic, 
sociology,  pedagogy,  Greek,  and  modern  philosophy.  The  theo- 
logical faculty  is  the  smallest.  In  spite  of  an  admirable  teaching 
staff  there  remains  something  still  to  do  before  the  spirit  of  science 
is  brought  into  perfect  harmony  with  the  strongly  sectarian  charac- 
ter of  the  American  churches.  On  the  other  hand,  the  faculty  of 
law  is  recognized  as  the  most  distinguished  in  the  English-speak- 
ing world.  The  difference  between  the  Anglo-American  law 
and  the  Romano-German  has  brought  it  about  that  the  entire 
arrangement  and  method  of  study  here  are  thoroughly  different 
from  the  German.  From  the  very  beginning  law  is  taught  by  the 
study  of  actual  decisions;  the  introduction  of  this  "case  system," 
in  opposition  to  the  usual  text-book  system,  was  the  most  decisive 
advance  of  all  and  fixed  the  reputation  of  the  law  faculty.  And 
this  system  has  been  gradually  introduced  into  other  leading 
schools  of  law.  The  legal  course  lasts  three  years,  and  each 
year  has  its  prescribed  courses  of  lectures.  In  the  first  year, 
for  instance,  students  take  up  contracts,  the  penal  code,  property 
rights,  and  civil  processes.  Perhaps  the  departure  from  the 
German  method  of  teaching  law  is  most  characteristically  shown 
by  the  fact  that  the  law  students  are  from  the  very  first  day  the 
most  industrious  students  of  all.  These  young  men  have  passed 
through  their  rather  easy  college  days,  and  when  now  they  leave 
those  early  years  of  study  in  the  elm-shaded  college  yard  and  with- 
draw to  Austin  Hall,  the  law  building  of  the  university,  they  feel 
that  at  last  they  are  beginning  their  serious  life-work.  In  the 
upper  story  of  Austin  Hall  there  is  a  large  reading-room  for  the 
students,  with  a  legal  reference  library  of  over  sixty  thousand 
volumes.  This  hall  is  filled  with  students,  even  late  at  night,  who 
are  quite  as  busy  as  if  they  were  young  barristers  industriously 
working  away  on  their  beginning  practice. 

The  German  method  is  much  more  followed  in  the  four-year 
medical  course  of  studies,  and  still  there  are  here  striking  dif- 
ferences. The  medical  faculty  of  Harvard,  which  is  located  in 
Boston  on  account  of  the  larger  hospitals  to  be  found  in  the  city, 
is  at  this  moment  in  the  midst  of  moving.  Already  work  has  been 
commenced  on  a  new  medical  quadrangle  with  the  most  modern 


THE  AMERICANS 

and  sumptuous  edifices.  In  somewhat  the  same  way,  the  course 
of  studies  is  rather  under  process  of  reformation.  It  is  in  the 
stage  of  experimentation,  and  of  course  it  is  true  throughout  the 
world  that  the  astonishing  advance  of  medicine  has  created  new 
problems  for  the  universities.  It  seems  impossible  now  for  a 
student  to  master  the  whole  province,  since  his  study  time  is  of 
course  limited.  The  latest  attempt  at  reform  is  along  the  line 
of  the  greatest  possible  concentration.  The  student  is  expected 
for  several  months  morning  and  night  to  study  only  anatomy, 
to  hear  anatomical  lectures,  to  dissect  and  to  use  the  microscope; 
and  then  again  for  several  months  he  devotes  himself  entirely  to 
physiology,  and  so  on.  Much  is  hoped,  secondly,  from  the  in- 
tuitive method  of  instruction.  While  in  Germany  the  teaching  of 
physiology  is  chiefly  by  means  of  lectures  and  demonstrations,  every 
Harvard  student  has  in  addition  during  the  period  of  physiological 
study  to  work  one  hundred  and  eighty  hours  on  prescribed  experi- 
ments, so  that  two  hours  of  experimentation  follow  every  one-hour 
lecture.  In  certain  lines  of  practical  instruction,  especially  in  path- 
ological anatomy,  the  American  is  at  a  disadvantage  compared  with 
the  German,  since  the  supply  of  material  for  autopsy  is  limited. 
Popular  democratic  sentiment  is  very  strong  against  the  idea  that  a 
man  who  dies  in  a  public  poor-house  must  fall  a  prey  to  the  dis- 
secting knife.  The  clinical  demonstrations  are  not  given  in 
special  university  clinics,  but  rather  in  the  large  municipal  hospi- 
tals, where  all  the  chief  physicians  are  pledged  to  give  practical 
instruction  in  the  form  of  demonstrations.  In  the  third  place, 
there  is  an  increasing  tendency  to  give  to  the  study  of  medicine  a 
certain  mobility;  in  other  words,  to  allow  a  rather  early  specializa- 
tion. As  to  the  substance  itself  which  is  taught,  Harvard's  medical 
school  is  very  much  like  a  German  university,  and  becomes  daily 
more  similar.  In  the  American  as  in  the  German  university, 
the  microscope  and  the  retort  have  taken  precedence  over  the 
medicine  chest. 

Harvard  has  about  five  thousand  students.  Any  boy  who 
wishes  to  enter  must  pass,  at  the  beginning  of  the  summer,  a  six- 
day  written  examination;  and  these  examinations  are  conducted 
in  about  forty  different  places  of  the  country  under  the  super- 
vision of  officers  of  the  university.  Any  one  coming  from  other 
universities  is  carefully  graded  according  to  the  standard  of 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  415 

scholarship  of  his  particular  institution.  The  amount  of  study 
required  is  not  easily  determined.  Unlike  the  German  plan, 
every  course  of  lectures  is  concluded  at  the  end  of  the  year  with 
a  three-hour  examination,  and  only  the  man  who  passes  the 
examination  has  the  course  in  question  put  to  his  credit.  Who- 
ever during  the  four,  or  perhaps  three,  college  years  has  taken 
eighteen  three-hour  lecture  courses  extending  through  the  year 
receives  the  bachelor's  degree.  In  practice,  indeed,  the  matter 
becomes  enormously  complicated,  yet  extensive  administrative 
machinery  regulates  every  case  with  due  justice.  In  the  legal 
and  medical  faculties,  everything  is  dependent  on  the  final  exam- 
inations of  the  year.  In  the  philosophical  two,  or  more  often 
three,  years  of  study  after  the  bachelor's  degree  lead  to  the  doctor- 
ate of  philosophy. 

The  graduate  student  always  works  industriously  through  the 
year,  but  the  college  student  may  be  one  of  various  types.  Part  of 
these  men  work  no  less  industriously  than  the  advanced  students; 
while  another  part,  and  by  no  means  the  worst,  would  not  for  any- 
thing be  guilty  of  such  misbehaviour.  These  men  are  not  in 
Harvard  to  learn  facts,  but  they  have  come  to  college  for  a  certain 
atmosphere  —  in  order  to  assimilate  by  reflection,  as  they  say.  Of 
course,  the  lectures  of  enthusiastic  professors  and  a  good  book 
or  two  belong  to  this  atmosphere;  and  yet,  who  can  say  that  the 
hours  spent  at  the  club,  on  the  foot-ball  field,  at  the  theatre,  in  the 
Boston  hotel,  on  the  river  or  on  horse-back  do  not  contribute  quite 
as  much  —  not  to  mention  the  informal  discussions  about  God 
and  the  world,  especially  the  literary  and  athletic  worlds,  as  they 
sit  together  at  their  window  seats  on  the  crimson  cushions  and 
smoke  their  cigarettes  ?  Harvard  has  the  reputation  through 
the  country  of  being  the  rich  man's  university,  and  it  is  true  that 
many  live  here  in  a  degree  of  luxury  of  which  few  German  students 
would  ever  think.  And  yet  there  are  as  many  who  go  through 
college  on  the  most  modest  means,  who  perhaps  earn  their  own 
livelihood  or  receive  financial  aid  from  the  college.  A  systematic 
evasion  of  lectures  or  excessive  drinking  or  card-playing  plays  no 
role  at  all.  The  distinctly  youthful  exuberance  of  the  students 
is  discharged  most  especially  in  the  field  of  sport,  which  gets  an 
incomparable  influence  on  the  students'  minds  by  means  of  the 
friendly  rivalry  between  different  colleges.  The  foot-ball  game 


416  THE  AMERICANS 

between  Harvard  and  Yale  in  November,  or  the  base-ball  game 
in  June,  or  the  New  London  races,  are  national  events,  for  which 
special  trains  transport  thousands  of  visitors.  Next  to  the  histor- 
ical traditions  it  is  indeed  sport,  which  holds  the  body  of  Harvard 
students  most  firmly  together,  and  those  who  belong  to  the  same 
class  most  firmly  of  all  —  that  is,  those  who  are  to  receive  their 
A.  B.  in  the  same  year.  Year  after  year  the  Harvard  graduates 
come  back  to  Boston  in  order  to  see  their  old  class-mates  again. 
They  know  that  to  be  a  Harvard  man  means  for  their  whole 
life  to  be  the  body-guard  of  the  nation.  They  will  stand  for 
Harvard,  their  sons  will  go  to  Harvard,  and  to  Harvard  they 
will  contribute  with  generous  hands  out  of  their  material  pros- 
perity. 

Harvard  reflects  all  the  interests  of  the  nation,  and  all  its  social 
contrasts.  It  has  its  political,  religious,  literary  and  musical 
clubs,  its  scientific  and  social  organizations,  its  daily  paper  for  the 
discussion  of  Harvard's  interests,  edited  by  students,  and  three 
monthly  magazines;  it  has  its  public  and  serious  parliamentary 
debates,  and  most  popular  of  all,  operatic  performances  in  the 
burlesque  vein  given  by  students.  Thousands  of  most  diverse 
personalities  work  out  their  life  problems  in  this  little  city  of  lec- 
ture halls,  laboratories,  museums,  libraries,  banquet  halls,  and 
club  buildings,  which  are  scattered  about  the  ancient  elm-shaded 
yard.  Each  student  has  come,  in  the  ardour  and  ambition  of  youth, 
to  these  halls  where  so  many  intellectual  leaders  have  taught  and 
so  many  great  men  of  the  outside  world  have  spent  their  student 
years;  and  each  one  goes  away  once  more  into  the  world  a  better 
and  stronger  man. 

One  thing  that  a  European  visitor  particularly  expects  to 
find  in  the  lecture  room  of  an  American  university  is  not  found 
in  Harvard.  There  are  no  women  students  in  the  school.  Women 
graduates  who  are  well  advanced  are  admitted  to  the  seminaries 
and  to  scientific  research  in  the  laboratories,  but  they  are  excluded 
from  the  college;  and  the  same  is  true  of  Yale,  Columbia,  Prince- 
ton, and  Johns  Hopkins.  Of  course,  Harvard  has  no  prejudice 
against  the  higher  education  of  women;  but  Harvard  is  itself  an 
institution  for  men.  In  an  indirect  way,  the  teaching  staff"  of 
Harvard  University  is  utilized  for  the  benefit  of  women,  since 
only  a  stone's  throw  from  the  Harvard  College  gate  is  Radcliffe 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  417 

College,  which  is  for  women,  and  in  which  only  Harvard  in- 
structors give  lectures. 

This  picture  of  the  largest  university  will  stand  as  typical  for 
the  others,  although  of  course  each  one  of  the  great  academies 
has  its  own  peculiarities.  While  Harvard  seeks  to  unite  human- 
itarian and  specialized  work,  Johns  Hopkins  aims  to  give  only  the 
latter,  while  Yale  and  Princeton  aim  more  particularly  at  the 
former.  Johns  Hopkins  in  Baltimore  is  a  workshop  of  productive 
investigation,  and  in  the  province  of  natural  sciences  and  medicine 
Johns  Hopkins  has  been  a  brilliant  example  to  the  whole  country. 
Yale  University,  in  New  Haven,  stands  first  of  all  for  culture  and 
personal  development,  although  many  a  shining  name  in  scholar- 
ship is  graven  on  the  tablets  of  Yale.  Columbia  University,  in 
New  York,  gets  its  peculiar  character  from  that  great  city  which 
is  its  background;  and  this  to  a  much  greater  extent  than  the 
University  of  Chicago,  which  has  created  its  own  environment 
and  atmosphere  on  the  farthest  outskirts  of  that  great  city.  Chi- 
cago, and  Cornell  University  at  Ithaca,  the  University  of  Penn- 
sylvania, Ann  Arbor  in  Michigan,  Berkeley  and  Stanford  in  Cali- 
fornia are  the  principal  institutions  which  admit  women,  and  there- 
in are  outwardly  distinguished  from  the  large  institutions  of  the 
East. 

The  male  students  from  the  West  have  somewhat  less  polish,  but 
are  certainly  not  less  industrious.  The  Western  students  come 
generally  out  of  more  modest  conditions,  and  are  therefore  less 
indifferent  with  regard  to  their  own  future.  The  student  from 
Ann  Arbor,  Minnesota,  or  Nebraska  would  compare  with  the 
student  at  Yale  or  Princeton  about  as  a  student  at  Konigsberg 
or  Breslau  would  compare  with  one  at  Heidelberg  or  Bonn. 
Along  with  that  he  comes  from  a  lower  level  of  public  school 
education.  The  Western  institutions  are  forced  to  content  them- 
selves with  less  exacting  conditions  for  entrance,  and  the  South 
has  at  the  present  time  no  academies  at  all  which  are  to  be  com- 
pared seriously  with  the  great  universities  of  the  country. 

Next  to  Harvard  the  oldest  university  is  Yale,  which  a  short 
time  ago  celebrated  its  two-hundredth  anniversary.  After  Yale 
comes  Princeton,  whose  foundation  took  place  in  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  Yale  was  founded  as  a  protest  against  the 
liberal  tendencies  of  Harvard.  Puritan  orthodoxy  had  been 


418  THE  AMERICANS 

rather  overridden  at  Harvard,  and  so  created  for  itself  a  more 
secure  fortress  in  the  colony  of  Connecticut.  In  this  the  mass  of 
the  population  was  strictly  in  sympathy  with  the  church;  the  free 
spirit  of  Harvard  was  too  advanced  for  the  people,  and  remained 
so  in  a  certain  way  for  nearly  two  centuries.  Therein  has  lain 
the  strength  of  Yale.  Until  a  short  time  ago  Yale  had  the  more 
popular  place  in  the  nation;  it  was  the  democratic  rallying-ground 
in  contrast  with  Harvard,  which  was  too  haughtily  aristocratic. 
Yale  was  the  religious  and  the  conservative  stronghold  as  con- 
trasted with  the  free  thought  and  progress  of  Harvard.  For 
some  time  it  seemed  as  if  the  opposition  of  Yale  against  the  modern 
spirit  would  really  prejudice  its  higher  interests,  and  it  slowly  fell 
somewhat  from  its  great  historic  position.  But  recently,  under  its 
young,  widely  known  president,  Hadley,  the  political  economist, 
it  has  been  making  energetic  and  very  successful  endeavours  to 
recover  its  lost  position. 

The  history  of  Columbia  University,  in  New  York,  began  as 
early  as  1754.  At  that  time  it  was  King's  College,  which  after  the 
War  for  Independence  was  rechristened  Columbia  College.  But 
the  real  greatness  of  Columbia  began  only  in  the  last  few  decades, 
with  a  development  which  is  unparalleled.  Under  its  president, 
Seth  Low,  the  famous  medical,  legal,  and  political  economical 
faculties  were  brought  into  closer  relations  with  the  college,  the 
Graduate  School  was  organized,  Teachers'  College  was  developed, 
the  general  entrance  conditions  were  brought  up,  and  on  Morning- 
side  Heights  a  magnificent  new  university  quadrangle  was  erected. 
When  Seth  Low  left  the  university,  after  ten  years  of  irreproach- 
able and  masterly  administration,  in  order  to  become  Mayor  of 
New  York  in  the  service  of  the  Reform  party,  he  was  succeeded 
in  the  presidency  by  Butler,  a  young  man  who  since  his  earliest 
years  had  shown  extraordinary  talents  for  administration,  and 
who  for  many  years  as  editor  of  the  best  pedagogical  magazine 
had  become  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  needs  of  academic  in- 
struction. Columbia  is  favoured  by  every  circumstance.  If  signs 
are  not  deceptive,  Columbia  will  soon  stand  nearest  to  Harvard 
at  the  head  of  American  universities.  While  Harvard  and  Yale, 
Princeton,  Pennsylvania,  and  Columbia  are  the  most  successful 
creations  of  the  Colonial  days,  Johns  Hopkins  and  Chicago,  Cor- 
nell and  Leland  Stanford  are  the  chief  representatives  of  those 


THE  UNIVERSITIES 

institutions  which  have  recently  been  founded  by  private  munifi- 
cence. The  state  universities  of  Wisconsin,  Michigan,  Nebraska, 
Kansas,  Minnesota,  Missouri,  and  California  may  be  mentioned, 
finally,  as  the  most  notable  state  universities. 

Johns  Hopkins  was  an  able  railroad  president,  who  died  after 
a  long  life,  in  1873,  and  bequeathed  seven  million  dollars  for  a 
university  and  academy  to  be  founded  in  his  native  city  of  Balti- 
more. The  administrative  council  elected  Gilman  as  its  presi- 
dent, and  it  is  Oilman's  memorable  service  to  have  accomplished 
that  of  which  America  was  most  in  need  in  that  moment  of  tran- 
sition —  an  academy  which  should  concentrate  its  entire  strength 
on  the  furtherance  of  serious  scientific  investigation  quite  with- 
out concessions  to  the  English  college  idea,  without  any  attempt 
to  reach  a  great  circle  of  students,  or  without  any  effort  to 
annex  a  legal  or  theological  faculty.  Its  sole  aim  was  to  attract 
really  eminent  specialists  as  teachers  in  its  philosophical  faculties, 
to  equip  laboratories  and  seminaries  in  the  most  approved  manner, 
to  fill  these  with  advanced  students,  and  to  inspire  these  students 
with  a  zeal  for  scientific  productiveness.  This  experiment  has  suc- 
ceeded remarkably.  It  is  clear  to-day  that  the  further  develop- 
ment of  the  American  university  will  not  consist  in  developing  the 
special  professional  school,  but  will  rather  combine  the  ideals  of 
the  college  with  the  ideals  of  original  research.  But  at  that  time 
when  the  new  spirit  which  had  been  imported  from  Germany 
began  to  ferment,  it  was  of  the  first  importance  that  some  such 
institution  should  avowedly,  without  being  hampered  by  any 
traditions,  take  up  the  cause  of  that  method  which  seeks  to  initiate 
the  future  school-teacher  into  the  secrets  of  the  laboratory.  Since 
Gilman  retired,  a  short  time  ago,  the  famous  chemist,  Ira  Rem- 
sen,  has  taken  his  place.  A  brilliant  professor  of  Johns  Hopkins, 
Stanley  Hall,  has  undertaken  a  similar  experiment  on  a  much 
more  modest  scale,  in  the  city  of  Worcester,  with  the  millions 
which  were  given  by  the  philanthropist  Clark.  His  Clark  Uni- 
versity has  remained  something  of  a  torso,  but  has  likewise 
succeeded  in  advancing  the  impulse  for  productive  science  in 
many  directions,  especially  in  psychology  and  education. 

In  the  year  1868,  Cornell  University  was  founded  in  the  town 
of  Ithaca,  from  the  gifts  of  Ezra  Cornell;  and  this  university 
had  almost  exactly  opposite  aims.  It  has  aimed  to  create  a 


THE  AMERICANS 

university  for  the  people,  where  every  man  could  find  what  he 
needed  for  his  own  education;  it  has  become  a  stronghold  for  the 
utilitarian  spirit.  The  truly  American  spirit  of  restless  initiative 
has  perhaps  nowhere  in  the  academic  world  found  more  char- 
acteristic expression  than  in  this  energetic  dwelling-place  of 
science.  The  first  president  was  the  eminent  historian,  Andrew 
D.  White,  who  was  appointed  later  to  his  happy  mission  as 
Ambassador  to  Berlin.  At  the  present  day  the  philosopher  Shur- 
man  stands  at  the  helm,  whose  efforts  in  colonial  politics  are  widely 
known.  Senator  Stanford,  of  California,  aimed  to  accomplish 
for  the  extreme  West  the  same  thing  that  Cornell  had  done  for  the 
East,  when  in  memory  of  his  deceased  son  he  applied  his  entire 
property  to  the  foundation  of  an  academy  in  the  vicinity  of  San 
Francisco.  Leland  Stanford  is,  so  far  as  its  financial  endowment 
goes,  probably  the  richest  university  in  the  country.  As  far  as 
its  internal  efficiency  has  gone,  the  thirty  million  dollars  have  not 
meant  so  much,  since  the  West  has  to  depend  on  its  own  students 
and  it  has  to  take  them  as  it  finds  them.  In  spite  of  this,  the 
university  accomplishes  an  excellent  work  in  many  directions 
under  the  leadership  of  the  zoologist  Jordan,  its  possibly  too 
energetic  president.  While  its  rival,  the  State  University  of  Cali- 
fornia, near  the  Golden  Gate  of  San  Francisco,  is  perhaps  the 
most  superbly  situated  university  in  the  world,  Leland  Stanford 
can  lay  claim  to  being  the  more  picturesque.  It  is  a  dream  in 
stone  conjured  up  under  the  Californian  palms.  Finally,  quite 
different,  more  strenuous  than  all  others,  some  say  more  Chi- 
cagoan,  is  the  University  of  Chicago,  to  which  the  petroleum 
prince,  Rockefeller,  has  deflected  some  twelve  million  dollars. 
The  University  of  Chicago  has  everything  and  offers  everything. 
It  pays  the  highest  salaries,  it  is  open  the  whole  year  through, 
it  has  accommodations  for  women,  and  welcomes  summer  guests 
who  come  to  stay  only  a  couple  of  months.  It  has  the  richest 
programme  of  collateral  lectures,  of  university  publications  and  of 
its  own  periodicals,  has  an  organic  alliance  with  no  end  of  smaller 
colleges  in  the  country,  has  observatories  on  the  hill-tops  and 
laboratories  by  the  sea;  and,  whatever  it  lacks  to-day,  it  is  bound 
to  have  to-morrow.  It  is  almost  uncanny  how  busily  and  ener- 
getically this  university  has  developed  itself  in  a  few  years  under 
the  distinguished  and  brilliant  presidential  policy  of  Harper. 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  421 

One  must  admire  the  great  work.  It  is  possible  that  this  place 
is  still  not  equal  to  the  older  Eastern  universities  as  the  home  of 
quiet  maturity  and  reflection;  but  for  hard,  scholarly  work  it 
has  few  rivals  in  the  world. 

Johns  Hopkins  and  Cornell,  Stanford  and  Chicago,  have  been 
carefully  designed  and  built  according  to  one  consistent  plan, 
while  the  state  universities  have  developed  slowly  out  of  small 
colleges  more  like  the  old  institutions  of  Colonial  days.  Their 
history  is  for  the  most  part  uneventful;  it  is  a  steady  and  toilsome 
working  to  the  top,  which  has  been  limited  not  so  much  by  the 
finances  of  the  states,  but  rather  by  the  conditions  of  the  schools 
in  the  regions  about  them.  The  largest  state  university  is  that 
of  Michigan,  at  Ann  Arbor,  not  far  from  Detroit.  In  number  of 
students  it  is  next  to  Harvard.  One  of  its  specialties  is  a  homoeo- 
pathic medical  faculty  in  addition  to  the  allopathic. 

It  would  be  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that,  with  the  blossom- 
ing out  of  the  large  and  middle-sized  universities,  all  of  which 
have  colleges  as  one  of  their  departments,  the  small  colleges  have 
ceased  to  play  their  part.  Quite  on  the  contrary;  in  a  certain 
sense  the  small  college  situated  in  rural  seclusion  has  found  a  new 
task  to  work  out  in  contrast  to  the  great  universities.  It  is  only  in 
the  small  college  that  the  young  student  is  able  to  come  into 
personal  contact  with  the  professor,  and  only  there  can  his  special 
individuality  be  taken  into  account  by  his  alma  mater.  One 
scheme  does  not  fit  all  the  students,  and  not  only  in  those  regions 
where  the  homely  college  represents  the  highest  attainable  in- 
struction of  its  kind,  but  also  in  many  districts  of  the  maturest 
culture,  the  college  is  for  many  youths  the  most  favourable  place 
for  development.  Thus  the  New  England  States  would  feel  a 
great  loss  to  the  cause  of  culture  if  such  old  colleges  as  Williams, 
Brown,  Amherst,  and  Dartmouth  should  simply  deliver  over  its 
students  to  Harvard. 

These  smaller  colleges  fulfil  a  special  mission,  therefore,  and 
they  do  their  best  when  they  do  not  try  to  seem  more  than  they 
really  are.  There  was  the  danger  that  the  colleges  would  think 
themselves  improved  by  introducing  some  fragments  of  research 
work  into  their  curriculum,  and  so  spoiling  a  good  humanitarian 
college  by  offering  a  bad  imitation  of  a  university.  Of  course, 
there  can  be  no  talk  of  a  sharp  separation  between  college  and 


422  THE  AMERICANS 

university,  for  the  reasons  which  we  have  emphasized  many  times 
before.  It  is  necessary,  as  we  have  seen,  that  there  should  be  a  long 
continuous  scale  from  the  smallest  college  up  to  the  largest  univer- 
sity. It  is  true  that  many  of  the  small  institutions  are  entirely 
superfluous,  and  not  capable  of  any  great  development,  and  so 
from  year  to  year  some  are  bound  to  disappear  or  to  be  absorbed 
by  others.  Many  are  really  business  enterprises,  and  many  more 
are  sectarian  institutions.  But  in  general  there  exists  among 
these  institutions  a  healthy  struggle  for  existence  which  prospers 
the  strongest  of  them  and  makes  them  do  their  best.  The  right 
of  existence  of  many  of  the  small  and  isolated  professional  schools 
is  much  more  questionable.  Almost  all  the  best  medical,  legal,  and 
theological  schools  of  this  order  have  already  been  assimilated  to 
this  or  that  college,  and  the  growing  together  of  the  academies 
which  started  separately  and  from  small  beginnings  into  organic 
universities  is  in  conformity  with  the  centralizing  tendency  every- 
where in  progress  in  our  time. 

Many  of  the  smaller  colleges  are,  like  all  the  state  institutions, 
open  to  both  sexes.  Besides  these,  however,  there  thrive  certain 
colleges  which  are  exclusively  for  women.  The  best  known  of  these 
are  Bryn  Mawr,  Vassar,  Wellesley,  Smith,  RadclifFe,  and  Barnard. 
Barnard  College,  in  New  York,  stands  in  the  same  relation  to 
Columbia  University  as  RadclifFe  College  does  to  Harvard.  Every 
one  of  these  leading  women's  colleges  has  its  own  physiognomy, 
and  appeals  rather  to  its  special  type  of  young  woman.  Vassar, 
Wellesley,  Smith,  and  Bryn  Mawr  lie  in  quiet,  retired  little  towns 
or  villages :  and  the  four  years  of  college  life  spent  together  by 
something  like  a  thousand  blooming,  happy  young  women  be- 
tween the  years  of  eighteen  and  twenty-two,  in  college  halls 
which  are  surrounded  by  attractive  parks,  are  four  years  of  ex- 
traordinary charm.  Only  Bryn  Mawr  and  RadclifFe  lay  any 
special  stress  on  the  advanced  critical  work  of  the  graduates.  In 
Smith,  Vassar,  and  Wellesley  it  is  mostly  a  matter  of  assimilation, 
and  the  standard  of  scholarship  is  not  much  higher  than  that  of 
the  German  Arbiturientenexamen,  together  with  possibly  one  or 
two  semesters  of  the  philosophical  faculty.  In  Wellesley,  women 
are  almost  the  only  teachers;  while  in  Bryn  Mawr  almost  all  are 
men,  and  in  Smith  the  teachers  are  both  men  and  women. 

In  statistical  language,  the  following  conditions  are  found  to 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  423 

hold.  If  for  the  moment  we  put  college  and  graduate  schools 
together  as  the  "philosophical  faculty,"  there  studied  in  the  year 
1900  in  the  philosophical  faculties,  1,308  students  for  every 
million  inhabitants;  in  the  legal  faculties  166,  in  the  medical  333, 
and  in  the  theological  faculties  106.  Ten  years  previously  the 
corresponding  figures  were  877,  72,  266,  112,  respectively,  and 
twenty-five  years  ago  they  were  744,  61,  196,  and  120,  respectively. 
Thus  the  increase  in  the  last  ten  years  has  been  a  remarkable 
one;  theology  alone  shows  some  diminution  in  its  numbers.  If  we 
consider  now  the  philosophical  faculties  more  closely,  we  discover 
the  surprising  fact  that  in  the  last  decade  the  male  students  have 
increased  61  per  cent.,  while  the  female  have  increased  149  per 
cent.  The  degrees  conferred  in  the  year  1900  were  as  follows: 
college  degrees  of  bachelor  of  arts  —  to  men  5,129,  to  women 
2,140.  The  degree  of  bachelor  of  science,  which  is  somewhat  lower 
in  its  standard,  and  requires  no  classical  preparation,  was  given  to 
2,473  men  and  591  women.  The  degree  of  doctor  of  philosophy  to 
322  men  and  20  women.  The  private  endowment  of  all  colleges 
together  amounts  to  360  million  dollars,  of  which  160  million  con- 
sist in  income-bearing  securities.  The  annual  income  amounted 
to  28  millions,  not  counting  donations  of  that  year,  of  which  1 1 
millions  came  from  the  fees  of  students,  about  7  millions  were  the 
interest  on  endowments,  and  7.5  millions  were  contributed  by  the 
government.  Thus  the  student  pays  about  39  per  cent,  of  what  his 
tuition  costs.  The  larger  donations  for  the  year  amounted  to 
about  12  millions  more.  The  number  of  colleges  for  men  or  for 
both  sexes  was  480,  for  women  alone  141.  This  figure  says  very 
little;  since,  in  the  case  of  many  women's  institutions,  the  name 
college  is  more  monstrously  abused  than  in  any  other,  and  in  the 
West  and  South  is  assumed  by  every  upstart  girls'  school.  There 
are  only  13  women's  colleges  which  come  up  to  a  high  standard, 
and  it  may  at  once  be  added  that  the  number  of  polytechnic  and 
agricultural  schools  whose  conditions  for  entrance  correspond  on 
the  average  to  those  of  the  colleges  amounts  to  43.  Also  these 
stand  on  many  different  levels,  and  at  the  head  of  them  all  is  the 
Massachusetts  Institute  of  Technology,  in  Boston,  which  is  now 
under  the  brilliant  leadership  of  President  Pritchett.  Almost  all 
the  technical  schools  are  state  institutions. 

There  were,  in  the  year   1900,   151  medical  faculties  having 


424.  THE  AMERICANS 

25,213  students:  all  except  three  provide  a  four  years'  course  of 
study.  Besides  these,  there  were  7,928  dental  students  studying  in 
54  dental  schools,  and  4,042  students  of  pharmacy  in  53  separate 
institutions.  There  were  12,516  law  students,  and  8,009  theo- 
logical students.  Out  of  the  law  students  151,  and  of  the  theo- 
logical 181,  were  women. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

Science 

ONE  who  surveys,  without  prejudice,  the  academic  life  of  the 
country  in  reference  to  scientific  work  will  receive  a  deep 
impression  of  the  energy  and  carefulness  with  which  this 
enormous  national  machinery  of  education   furthers  the  higher 
intellectual   life.     And  the  continuous   gradation  of  institutions 
by  which  the  higher  academy  is  able  to  adapt  itself  to  every  local 
need,  so  that  no  least  remnant  of  free  initiative  can  be  lost  and 
unlimited  development   is   made   possible   at  every  point,  must 
be  recognized  by  every  one  as  the  best  conceivable  system  for  the 
country. 

It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  it  brings  with  it  certain  difficulties 
and  disadvantages.  The  administrative  difficulties  which  pro- 
ceed from  the  apparent  incomparability  of  the  institutions  are 
really  not  serious,  although  the  foreigner  who  is  accustomed 
to  uniformity  in  his  universities,  Gymnasia,  certificates  and 
doctorial  diplomas,  is  inclined  to  overemphasize  these  diffi- 
culties in  America.  The  real  disadvantages  of  the  system  of 
continuous  gradations  is  found,  not  in  the  outer  administration, 
but  in  its  inner  methods.  The  German  undergraduate  takes  the 
attitude  of  one  who  learns;  his  teacher  must  be  thoroughly  well 
informed,  but  no  one  expects  a  school-teacher  himself  to  advance 
science.  The  graduate  student,  on  the  other  hand,  is  supposed 
to  take  a  critical  attitude,  and  therefore  his  teacher  has  to  be  a 
teacher  of  methods  —  that  is,  he  must  be  a  productive  investigator. 
Wherever,  as  in  Germany,  there  lies  a  sharp  distinction  between 
these  two  provinces,  it  is  easy  to  keep  the  spirit  of  investigation 
pure;  but  where,  as  in  America,  one  merges  into  the  other, 
the  principles  at  stake  are  far  too  likely  to  be  confused.  Men 
who  fundamentally  are  nothing  but  able  school-teachers  are  then 


426  THE  AMERICANS 

able  to  work  up  and  stand  beside  the  best  investigators  in  the 
university  faculties,  because  the  principle  of  promotion  on  the 
ground  of  scientific  production  solely  cannot  be  so  clearly  sepa- 
rated from  the  methods  of  selection  which  are  adapted  to  the 
lower  grades  of  instruction.  To  be  sure,  this  has  its  advantages 
in  other  directions;  because,  in  so  far  as  there  is  no  sharp  demar- 
cation, the  spirit  of  investigation  can  also  grow  from  above  down, 
and  therefore  in  many  a  smaller  college  there  will  be  more  pro- 
ductive scientists  teaching  than  would  be  found,  perhaps,  in  a 
German  school;  but  yet  the  influences  of  the  lower  on  the  higher 
departments  of  instruction  are  the  predominant  ones.  Investi- 
gation thrives  best  when  the  young  scholar  knows  that  his  ad- 
vancement depends  ultimately  on  strictly  scientific  achievements, 
and  not  on  work  of  a  popular  sort,  nor  on  success  in  the  teaching  of 
second-hand  knowledge.  This  fact  has  often  been  brought  home 
to  the  public  mind  in  recent  years,  and  the  leading  universities 
have  already  more  and  more  recognized  the  principle  of  con- 
sidering scientific  achievements  to  be  the  main  ground  for  pre- 
ferment. 

But  productive  scholarship  is  interfered  with  in  still  other 
ways.  Professors  are  often  too  much  busied  with  administra- 
tive concerns;  and  although  this  sort  of  administrative  influence 
may  be  attractive  for  many  professors,  its  exercise  requires  much 
sacrifice  of  time.  More  particularly,  the  professors  of  most  in- 
stitutions, although  there  are  many  exceptions  among  the  leading 
universities,  are  overloaded  with  lectures,  and  herein  the  graded 
transition  from  low  to  high  works  unfavourably.  Especially 
in  Western  institutions,  the  administrative  bodies  do  not  see  why 
the  university  professor  should  not  lecture  as  many  hours  in  the 
week  as  a  school  teacher;  and  most  dangerous  of  all,  as  we  have 
already  mentioned  in  speaking  of  popular  education,  is  the  fact 
that  the  scholar  is  tempted,  by  high  social  and  financial  rewards, 
to  give  scientifically  unproductive  popular  lectures  and  to  write 
popular  essays. 

And  the  list  of  factors  which  have  worked  against  scientific 
productiveness  can  be  still  further  increased.  To  be  sure,  it  would 
be  false  here  to  repeat  the  old  tale  that  the  American  professor 
is  threatened  in  his  freedom  by  the  whimsical  demands  of  rich 
patrons,  who  have  founded  or  handsomely  endowed  many  of  the 


SCIENCE  427 

universities.  That  is  merely  newspaper  gossip;  and  the  three  or 
four  cases  which  have  busied  public  opinion  in  the  last  ten  years 
and  have  been  ridiculously  overestimated,  are  found,  on  closer 
inspection,  to  have  been  cases  which  could  have  come  up  as  well 
in  any  non-partisan  institution  in  the  world.  There  may  have 
been  mistakes  on  both  sides;  perhaps  the  university  councils 
have  acted  with  unnecessary  rigour  or  lack  of  tact,  but  it  has  yet 
to  be  proved  that  there  has  been  actual  injustice  anywhere. 
Even  in  small  colleges  purely  scientific  activity  never  interferes 
with  the  welfare  of  a  professor.  A  blatant  disrespect  for  religion 
would  hurt  his  further  prospects  there,  to  be  sure,  just  as  in 
the  Western  state  institutions  the  committees  appointed  by  the 
legislature  would  dislike  a  hostile  political  attitude.  Yet  not  even 
in  the  smallest  college  has  any  professor  ever  suffered  the  least 
prejudice  by  reason  of  his  scientific  labours.  Science  in  America 
is  not  hampered  by  any  lack  of  academic  freedom. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  American  university  lacks  one  of  the 
most  important  forces  of  German  universities  —  the  Privatdocent, 
who  lives  only  for  science,  and  without  compensation  places  his 
teaching  abilities  in  the  service  of  his  own  scientific  development. 
The  young  American  scholar  is  welcome  only  where  a  paid  posi- 
tion is  vacant;  but  if  he  finds  no  empty  instructorship  in  a  large 
university,  he  is  obliged  to  be  content  with  a  position  in  a  small 
college,  where  the  entire  intellectual  atmosphere,  as  regards  the 
studies,  apparatus,  and  amount  of  work  exacted,  all  work  against 
his  desire  to  be  scientifically  productive,  and  finally  perhaps 
kill  it  entirely.  The  large  universities  are  just  beginning  to 
institute  the  system  of  voluntary  docents  —  which,  to  be  sure,  en- 
counters administrative  difficulties.  There  is  also  a  dangerous 
tendency  toward  academic  in-breeding.  The  former  students  of 
an  institution  are  always  noticeably  preferred  for  any  vacant 
position,  and  the  claims  of  capable  scholars  are  often  disregarded 
for  the  sake  of  quite  insignificant  men.  Scientific  productiveness 
meets  further  with  the  material  obstacle  of  the  high  cost  of  print- 
ing in  America,  which  makes  it  often  more  difficult  for  the  young 
student  here  than  in  Germany  to  find  a  publisher  for  his  works. 

Against  all  this  there  are  some  external  advantages:  first,  the 
lavishness  of  the  accessories  of  investigation.  The  equipment 
of  laboratories,  libraries,  museums,  observatories,  special  insti- 


428  THE  AMERICANS 

tutes,  and  the  fitting  out  of  expeditions  yield  their  due  bene- 
fits. Then  there  are  various  sorts  of  free  assistance  —  fellowships, 
travelling  scholarships,  and  other  foundations  —  which  make  every 
year  many  young  scholars  free  for  scientific  work.  There  is 
also  the  admirable  "sabbatical  year."  The  large  universities 
give  every  professor  leave  of  absence  every  seventh  year,  with  the 
express  purpose  of  allowing  him  time  for  his  own  scholarly 
labours.  Another  favourable  circumstance  is  the  excellent  habit 
of  work  which  every  American  acquires  during  his  student  years; 
and  here  it  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  the  American  is  on  the 
average,  and  in  consequence  of  his  system  has  to  be,  more  in- 
dustrious than  the  German  average  student.  From  the  begin- 
ning of  his  course,  he  is  credited  with  only  such  lecture  courses  as 
he  has  passed  examinations  on,  and  these  are  so  arranged  as  to 
necessitate  not  only  presence  at  the  lectures,  but  also  the  study  of 
prescribed  treatises;  the  student  is  obliged  to  apply  himself 
with  considerable  diligence.  A  student  who  should  give  him- 
self entirely  to  idling,  as  may  happen  in  Germany,  would  not 
finish  his  first  college  year.  If  the  local  foot-ball  gossip  is  no 
more  sensible  than  the  talk  at  duelling  clubs,  at  least  the 
practice  of  drinking  beer  in  the  morning  and  playing  skat  have 
no  evil  counterpart  of  comparable  importance  in  America.  The 
American  student  recreates  himself  on  the  athletic  field  rather 
than  in  the  ale-house.  Germany  is  exceedingly  sparing  of  time 
and  strength  during  school  years,  but  lets  both  be  wasted' in  the 
universities  to  the  great  advantage  of  a  strong  personality  here 
and  there,  but  to  the  injury  of  the  average  man.  America 
wastes  a  good  deal  of  time  during  school  years,  but  is  more 
sparing  during  the  college  and  university  courses,  and  there 
accustoms  each  student  to  good,  hard  work. 

And  most  of  all,  the  intellectual  make-up  of  the  American  is 
especially  adapted  to  scientific  achievements.  This  tempera- 
ment, owing  to  the  historical  development  of  the  nation,  has  so  far 
addressed  itself  to  political,  industrial,  and  judicial  problems, 
but  a  return  to  theoretical  science  has  set  in;  and  there,  most  of  all, 
the  happy  combination  of  inventiveness,  enthusiasm,  and  per- 
sistence in  pursuit  of  a  goal,  of  intellectual  freedom  and  elasticity, 
of  feeling  for  form  and  of  idealistic  instinct  for  self-perfection  will 
yield,  perhaps  soon,  remarkable  triumphs. 


SCIENCE  429 

We  have  hitherto  spoken  only  of  the  furtherance  of  science  by 
the  higher  institutions  of  learning,  but  we  must  look  at  least 
hastily  on  what  is  being  done  outside  of  academic  circles.  We 
see,  then,  first  of  all,  the  magnificent  government  institutions  at 
Washington  which,  without  doing  any  teaching,  are  in  the  sole 
service  of  science.  The  cultivation  of  the  sciences  by  twenty- 
eight  special  institutions  and  an  army  of  6,000  persons,  conducted 
at  an  annual  expense  of  more  than  $8,000,000,  is  certainly  a 
unique  feature  of  American  government.  There  is  no  other 
government  in  the  world  which  is  organized  for  such  a  many- 
sided  scientific  work;  and  nevertheless,  everything  which  is  done 
there  is  closely  related  to  the  true  interests  of  government  —  that 
is,  not  to  the  interests  of  the  dominant  political  party,  but  to  those 
of  the  great  self-governing  nation.  All  the  institutes,  as  different 
as  they  are  in  their  special  work,  have  this  in  common  —  that  they 
work  on  problems  which  relate  to  the  country,  population, 
products,  and  the  general  conditions  of  America,  so  that  they 
meet  first  of  all  the  national  needs  of  an  economical,  social, 
intellectual,  political,  and  hygienic  sort,  and  only  in  a  secondary 
way  contribute  to  abstract  science. 

The  work  of  these  government  institutes  is  peculiar,  moreover, 
in  that  the  results  are  published  in  many  handsomely  gotten-up 
volumes,  and  sent  free  of  cost  to  hundreds  of  thousands  of  appli- 
cants. The  institutions  are  devoted  partly  to  science  and  partly 
to  political  economy.  Among  the  scientific  institutes  are  the  ad- 
mirable Bureau  of  Geological  Survey,  which  has  six  hundred  offi- 
cials, and  undertakes  not  only  geological  but  also  palaeontological 
and  hydrographic  investigations,  and  carries  on  mineralogical  and 
lithological  laboratories;  then  the  Geodetic  Survey,  which  studies 
the  coasts,  rivers,  lakes,  and  mountains  of  the  country;  the  Marine 
Observatory,  for  taking  astronomical  observations;  the  Weather 
Bureau,  which  conducts  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  meteoro- 
logical stations;  the  Bureau  of  Biology,  which  makes  a  special  study 
of  the  geographical  distribution  of  plants  and  animals;  the  Bureau 
of  Botany,  which  studies  especially  all  problems  connected  with 
seeds;  the  Bureau  of  Forestry,  which  scientifically  works  on 
questions  of  the  national  timber  supply;  the  important  Bureau 
of  Entomology,  which  has  studied  with  great  success  the  relations 
of  insects  to  agriculture;  the  Bureau  of  Agriculture,  which 


430  THE  AMERICANS 

statistically  works  out  experiments  on  planting,  and  which  di- 
rects government  experiment  stations  situated  throughout  the 
country;  the  Department  of  Fisheries,  which  conducts  stations 
for  marine  biology;  and  many  others.  Among  the  political 
economic  institutes  in  the  broad  sense  of  the  word  are  the  Bu- 
reau of  Labour,  which  undertakes  purely  sociological  investi- 
gations into  labour  conditions;  the  Corporation  Bureau,  which 
studies  the  conditions  of  organized  business;  the  Bureau  of  Gen- 
eral Statistics;  the  Census  Bureau,  which  every  ten  years  takes 
a  census  more  complete  than  that  of  any  other  country.  The 
Census  of  1890  consisted  of  39  large  folio  volumes,  and  the  col- 
lecting of  information  alone  cost  $10,000,000.  The  Census  of  1900 
is  still  in  course  of  publication.  The  Bureau  of  Education  also 
belongs  here,  which  studies  purely  theoretically  the  statistics  of 
education.  Then  there  are  the  Bureau  of  Immigration  and 
several  others.  All  these  bureaus  are  really  designed  to  impart 
instruction  and  advice;  they  have  no  authority  to  enforce  any 
measures.  But  the  extraordinary  publicity  which  is  given  to 
their  printed  reports  gives  them  a  very  considerable  influence; 
and  the  thoroughness  with  which  the  investigations  are  carried 
on,  thanks  to  the  liberal  appropriations  of  Congress,  makes  of 
these  bureaus  scientific  and  economic  institutions  of  the  highest 
order. 

We  have  still  to  speak  of  the  most  famous  of  the  government 
bureaus,  the  Smithsonian  Institution.  In  1836  the  government 
came  into  the  possession,  by  bequest,  of  the  whole  property  of  the 
Englishman  Smithson,  as  a  principal  with  which  an  institution 
should  be  founded  bearing  his  name,  and  serving  the  advance  and 
dissemination  of  science.  It  was  never  known  just  why  this 
Oxonian  and  mineralogist  left  his  large  property  to  the  city  of 
Washington,  which  then  numbered  only  5,000  inhabitants.  Al- 
though he  had  never  visited  America,  he  wrote  to  a  friend:  "The 
best  blood  of  England  flows  in  my  veins;  my  father's  family 
is  from  Northumberland,  my  mother's  is  related  to  kings.  But 
I  desire  to  have  my  name  remembered  when  the  titles  of  the 
Northumberlands  and  the  Percys  shall  have  been  forgotten." 
His  instinct  guided  him  aright,  and  the  Smithsonian  Institution 
is  to-day  an  intellectual  centre  in  Washington  —  that  city  which  is 
the  political  centre  of  the  New  World.  It  should  be  mentioned, 


SCIENCE  431 

in  passing,  that  Congress  accepted  the  bequest  only  after  lively 
opposition;  it  was  objected  that  to  receive  the  gift  of  a  foreigner 
was  beneath  the  dignity  of  the  government.  As  a  fact,  however, 
the  success  of  the  institution  is  not  due  so  much  to  this  foreign 
endowment  as  to  the  able  labours  of  its  three  presidents:  the 
physicist  Henry,  who  served  from  1846  to  1878,  the  zoologist 
Baird  from  1878  to  1887,  and  the  physicist  Langley,  who  has 
been  at  the  head  since  1887.  All  three  have  been  successful  in 
finding  ways  by  which  the  institute  could  serve  the  growth  and 
dissemination  of  science. 

It  was  agreed  from  the  outset  not  to  found  a  university  which 
would  compete  with  others  already  existing,  but  an  institute  to 
complement  all  existing  institutions,  and  to  be  a  sort  of  centre 
among  them.  The  great  institution  was  divided  into  the  follow- 
ing divisions:  first,  the  National  Museum,  in  which  the  visible 
results  of  all  the  national  expeditions  and  excavations  are  gath- 
ered and  arranged.  The  American  idea  is  that  a  scientific  mu- 
seum should  not  be  a  series  of  articles  with  their  labels,  but 
rather  a  series  of  instructive  labels,  illustrated  by  typical  speci- 
mens. Only  in  this  way,  it  is  thought,  does  a  museum  really  help 
to  educate  the  masses.  The  collection,  which  is  visited  every 
year  by  more  than  300,000  persons,  includes  750,000  ethnological 
and  anthropological  objects;  almost  2,000,000  zoological,  400,000 
botanical,  and  almost  300,000  palaeontological  specimens.  Then 
there  is  the  National  Zoological  Park,  which  contains  animal 
species  that  are  dying  out;  the  Astrophysical  Observatory,  in 
which  Langley  carries  on  his  famous  experiments  on  the  invisible 
portion  of  the  solar  spectrum;  the  Ethnological  Bureau,  which 
specially  studies  the  Indian;  and  much  else.  The  department  of 
exchanges  of  this  institute  is  a  unique  affair;  it  negotiates  ex- 
changes between  scientists,  libraries,  and  other  American  insti- 
tutions, and  also  between  these  and  European  institutions.  As 
external  as  this  service  may  seem,  it  has  become  indispensable 
to  the  work  of  American  science.  Moreover,  the  library  of  the 
institution  is  among  the  most  important  in  the  country;  and  its 
zoological,  ethnological,  physical,  and  geological  publications, 
which  are  distributed  free  to  4,000  libraries,  already  fill  hundreds 
of  volumes. 

Any  one  examining  the  many-sided  and  happily  circumstanced 


THE  AMERICANS 

scientific  work  of  these  twenty-eight  institutes  at  Washington 
will  come  to  feel  that  the  equipment  could  be  used  to  better 
advantage  if  actual  teaching  were  to  be  undertaken,  and  that  the 
organization  of  the  institutes  into  a  national  university  attracting 
students  from  all  parts  of  the  country  would  tend  to  stimulate 
their  achievements.  In  fact,  the  thought  of  a  national  university 
as  the  crowning  point  of  the  educational  system  of  the  country 
has  always  been  entertained  in  Washington;  and  those  who 
favour  this  idea  are  able  to  point  to  George  Washington  as  the 
one  who  first  conceived  such  a  plan.  In  spite  of  vigorous  agita- 
tion, this  plan  is  still  not  realized,  chiefly  because  the  traditions 
of  the  country  make  education  the  concern  of  the  separate  states, 
and  reserve  it  for  such  institutions  as  are  independent  of  politics. 

It  is  a  different  question,  whether  the  time  will  not  come  when 
the  nation  will  desire  an  institution  of  a  higher  sort  —  one  which 
will  not  rival  the  other  large  universities  of  the  country,  but  will 
stand  above  them  all  and  assume  new  duties.  A  purely  scientific 
institution  might  exist,  admitting  students  only  after  they  have 
passed  their  doctorial  examination,  and  of  which  the  professors 
should  be  elected  by  the  vote  of  their  colleagues  through  the 
country.  There  is  much  need  of  such  a  university;  but  the  time 
may  not  be  ripe  for  it  now,  and  it  may  be  a  matter  of  the  far 
future.  And  yet  at  the  present  rate  at  which  science  is  develop- 
ing in  the  country,  the  far  future  means  only  ten  or  fifteen  years 
hence.  When  the  time  is  ripe,  the  needed  hundreds  of  millions  of 
dollars  will  be  forthcoming. 

For  the  present,  a  sort  of  half-way  station  to  a  national  uni- 
versity at  Washington  has  been  reached.  This  is  the  Carnegie 
Institute,  whose  efficiency  can  so  far  not  be  wholly  estimated. 
With  a  provisional  capital  of  $10,000,000  given  by  Andrew  Car- 
negie, it  is  proposed  to  aid  scientific  investigations  throughout 
the  country,  and  on  the  recommendation  of  competent  men  to 
advance  to  young  scientists  the  necessary  means  for  productive 
investigations.  There  is,  unfortunately,  a  danger  here  that  in  this 
way  the  other  universities  and  foundations  of  the  country  may 
feel  relieved  of  their  responsibility,  and  so  relax  their  efforts.  It 
may  be  that  people  will  look  to  the  centre  for  that  which  formerly 
came  from  the  periphery,  and  that  in  this  way  the  general  industry 
will  become  less  intense.  Most  of  all,  the  Carnegie  Institute 


SCIENCE  433 

has,  up  to  this  point,  lacked  broad  fruitful  ideas  and  a  real  pro- 
gramme of  what  it  proposes  to  do.  If  the  institute  cannot  do 
better  than  it  has  so  far  done,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  its  arbitrary 
and  unsystematic  aid  will  do,  in  the  long  run,  more  harm  than 
good  to  the  scientific  life  of  the  country. 

The  same  general  conditions,  on  a  smaller  scale  and  with 
many  variations,  are  found  outside  of  Washington  in  a  hundred 
different  scientific  museums  and  collections  —  biological,  hygienic, 
medical,  historical,  economic,  and  experimental  institutions; 
zoological  and  botanical  gardens;  astronomical  observatories; 
biological  stations,  which  are  found  sometimes  under  state  or 
city  administration,  sometimes  under  private  or  corporate  man- 
agement. Thus  the  Marine  Laboratory  at  Woods  Hole  is  a 
meeting-place  every  summer  for  the  best  biologists.  Sometimes 
important  collections  can  be  found  in  the  most  unlikely  places  — 
as,  for  instance,  in  the  historic  museum  of  the  city  of  Salem,  which, 
although  it  has  gone  to  sleep  to-day,  is  still  proud  of  its  history. 
The  large  cities,  however,  like  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Boston, 
Chicago,  and  Baltimore,  have  established  admirable  institutions, 
on  which  scientific  work  everywhere  depends.  Then  there  are 
the  political  capitals,  such  as  Albany,  with  their  institutions. 
That  German  who  is  most  thoroughly  acquainted  with  conditions 
of  scientific  collections,  Professor  Meyer,  the  director  of  the 
scientific  museums  at  Dresden,  has  given  his  opinion  in  his  admira- 
ble work  on  the  museums  of  the  Eastern  United  States  as  follows: 
"I  have  received  a  profound  impression  of  American  capabilities 
in  this  direction,  and  can  even  say  that  the  museums  of  natural 
history  of  that  country  are  generally  on  a  higher  plane  than  those 
of  Europe.  We  have,  so  far  as  buildings  and  administrative 
machinery  go,  very  few  good  and  many  moderate  or  downright 
poor  museums,  while  the  Americans  have  many  more  good  and 
many  fewer  bad  ones;  and  those  which  are  poor  are  improv- 
ing at  the  rapid  American  pace,  while  with  us  improvement  is 
hopelessly  slow. " 

There  is  still  another  important  factor  in  the  scientific  societies, 
whose  membership,  to  be  sure,  is  chiefly  composed  of  the  per- 
sonnel of  the  higher  educational  institutions,  but  which  never- 
theless exert  an  independent  influence  on  scientific  life.  The 
National  Academy  of  Science  is  officially  at  the  head.  It  was 


434  THE  AMERICANS 

founded  in  1863,  having  a  hundred  members  and  electing  five 
new  members  each  year.  While  its  annual  meetings  in  Wash- 
ington observe  only  the  ordinary  scientific  programme,  the  society 
has  as  a  special  function  the  advising  of  Congress  and  the  govern- 
ment on  scientific  matters.  Thus,  this  academy  drew  up  the 
plans  for  organizing  the  Geological  Survey  and  for  replanting  the 
national  forests.  The  political  atmosphere  of  Washington,  how- 
ever, has  not  been  too  favourable  to  the  success  of  the  Academy, 
and  it  has  never  attained  the  national  significance  of  the  Paris  and 
London  academies. 

The  American  Historical  Association  has  a  similar  character; 
and  its  transactions  are  published  at  the  expense  of  the  govern- 
ment. The  popular  associations,  of  course,  reach  much  larger 
circles;  thus,  for  instance,  the  American  Society  for  the  Advance- 
ment of  Science,  which  has  existed  for  fifty  years,  has  about  the 
same  functions  as  the  German  Naturforscherversammlung.  It 
brings  together  at  its  annual  meetings,  which  are  always  held  in 
different  places,  a  thousand  or  so  scientists,  and  holds  in  different 
sections  a  great  many  lectures.  Still  more  popular  are  the  meet- 
ings of  the  similarly  organized  National  Educational  Association, 
which  brings  together  more  than  ten  thousand  members  at  its  sum- 
mer meetings,  which  are  often  held  in  pleasant  and  retired  spots. 
In  these  and  similar  sessions,  scientific  work  is  popularized,  while  in 
the  specialized  societies  it  is  stimulated  toward  greater  profundity. 
In  fact,  there  is  no  medical,  natural-historical,  legal,  theologi- 
cal, historical,  economic,  philological,  or  philosophical  specialty 
which  has  not  its  special  national  societies  with  annual  congresses. 
It  is  increasingly  the  custom  to  hold  these  popular  sessions  during 
the  summer  holidays,  but  the  strictly  scientific  congresses  during 
the  first  week  in  January.  The  physicians,  by  exception,  meet 
at  Easter.  In  order  that  the  business-like  separation  of  subjects 
may  not  exclude  a  certain  contact  of  scientific  neighbours,  it 
is  increasingly  the  plan  to  organize  groups  of  congresses;  thus, 
the  seven  societies  of  anatomy,  physiology,  morphology,  plant 
physiology,  psychology,  anthropology,  and  folk-lore  always  meet 
at  the  same  time  in  the  same  city. 

Besides  these  wandering  meetings,  finally,  there  are  the  local 
societies.  Of  these,  the  veteran  is  the  Academy  in  Philadelphia. 
It  was  founded  by  Franklin  in  1743,  and  so  far  as  its  membership 


SCIENCE  435 

goes,  may  claim  to  have  a  national  character.  In  a  similar  way 
the  American  Academy,  founded  in  1780,  has  its  home  in  Boston. 
Then  there  are  the  New  York  Academy,  the  Washington  Academy, 
which  has  recently  enlarged  so  as  to  include  members  from  the 
whole  country,  and  which  ultimately  will  probably  merge  into 
the  National  Academy;  the  academies  of  Baltimore,  Chicago, 
New  Haven,  and  a  hundred  smaller  associations,  which  for  the 
most  part  are  not  merely  interested  in  spreading  scientific  in- 
formation, but  in  helping  on  the  results  of  science. 

We  cannot  hope  to  call  the  complete  roll  here  of  scientific 
production.  Our  purpose  was  merely  to  relate  some  of  the  favour- 
able and  unfavourable  influences  under  which  the  American  has 
to  make  his  contribution  to  the  science  of  the  day.  Merely  for 
a  first  orientation,  we  may  give  some  more  detailed  accounts  in  a 
few  departments.  At  first  sight,  one  might  be  tempted  to  give 
a  sketch  of  present-day  production  by  directly  depicting  the  pro- 
duction with  reference  to  the  special  higher  institutions.  Much 
more  than  in  Germany,  the  results  of  scientific  research  are  brought 
before  the  public  eye  with  the  official  seal  of  some  university. 
Every  large  educational  institution  publishes  its  own  contribu- 
tions to  many  different  sciences;  thus,  the  University  of  Chicago, 
which  perhaps  goes  furthest  in  this  respect,  publishes  journals 
of  sociology,  pedagogy,  biblical  studies,  geology,  astronomy,  bot- 
any, etc.;  and,  besides  these,  regular  series  of  studies  in  science, 
government,  classical  philology,  Germanic  and  Romance  lan- 
guages, English  philology,  anthropology,  and  physiology.  Johns 
Hopkins  University  publishes  mathematical,  chemical,  and  bio- 
logical magazines;  a  journal  for  experimental  medicine,  one  for 
psychiatry,  for  modern  philology,  for  history,  and  Assyriology. 
Among  the  periodical  publications  of  Harvard  University,  the 
astronomical,  zoological,  cryptogamic,  ethnological,  Oriental,  clas- 
sical philological,  modern  philological,  historical,  and  econom- 
ic journals  are  the  best  known.  Columbia,  Pennsylvania,  and 
several  other  universities  publish  equally  many  journals.  There 
are  also  a  great  many  books  published  under  the  auspices  of  insti- 
tutions of  learning,  which  relate  to  expeditions  or  other  special 
matters.  Thus,  for  instance,  Yale  University,  on  the  occasion 
of  its  two-hundredth  anniversary  in  1901,  published  commemo- 
rative scientific  papers  by  its  professors  in  twenty-five  large 


436  THE  AMERICANS 

volumes;  the  papers  themselves  ranging  from  such  subjects  as 
the  Hindu  epic  and  Greek  metre  to  thermo-dymamics  and  physi- 
ological chemistry. 

The  various  universities  have  always  been  known  to  have 
their  scientific  specialties.  That  of  Johns  Hopkins  is  natural 
science;  of  Columbia,  the  science  of  government;  of  Harvard, 
literature  and  philosophy.  But  the  universities  are,  of  course, 
not  confined  to  their  specialties;  for  instance,  Johns  Hopkins  has 
done  very  much  in  philology,  Columbia  in  biology,  and  while 
Harvard  has  been  famous  for  its  literary  men,  like  Longfellow, 
Holmes,  Norton  and  Child,  it  has  also  had  such  distinguished 
men  on  its  faculty  as  the  zoologist  Agassiz,  the  botanist  Gray, 
and  the  astronomer  Pickering. 

It  may  be  more  natural  to  classify  scientific  production  accord- 
ing to  the  separate  sciences.  The  list  is  too  long  to  be  given 
entire.  The  venerable  subject  of  philosophy  is  generally  placed 
first  in  the  university  catalogues  of  lectures.  This  subject  shows 
at  once  how  much  and  how  little  is  being  done.  A  German,  to 
be  sure,  is  apt  to  have  false  standards  in  this  matter;  for  if  he 
thinks  of  German  philosophy,  he  recalls  the  names  of  Kant, 
Schopenhauer,  Fichte,  and  Hegel;  and  he  asks  what  America  has 
produced  to  compare  with  these.  But  we  have  seen  that  the 
work  of  productive  science  was  commenced  in  the  New  World 
only  a  few  decades  ago,  and  for  this  reason  we  must  compare  the 
present  day  in  America  with  the  present  day  in  Germany;  and  to 
be  just,  we  should  compare  the  American  scholar  only  with  the 
younger  and  middle-aged  Germans  who  have  developed  under 
the  scientific  conditions  of  the  last  thirty  years  —  that  is,  with  men 
not  over  sixty  years  old.  Young  geniuses  are  not  plentiful,  even 
in  Germany  to-day;  and  not  only  are  men  like  Kant  and  Hegel 
lacking  in  philosophy,  but  also  in  other  departments  of  science; 
men  like  Ranke  and  Helmholtz  seem  not  to  belong  to  our  day  of 
specialization.  A  new  wave  of  idealistic  and  broadly  generaliz- 
ing thought  is  advancing.  The  time  of  great  thinkers  will  come 
again;  but  a  young  country  is  not  to  be  blamed  for  the  spirit  of 
the  times,  nor  ought  its  present  accomplishment  to  be  measured 
after  the  standards  of  happier  days.  If  we  make  a  perfectly  fair 
comparison,  we  shall  find  that  American  philosophy  is  at  present 
up  to  that  of  any  other  country. 


SCIENCE  437 

Externally,  in  the  first  place,  America  makes  a  massive  show- 
ing, even  if  we  leave  out  of  account  philosophical  literature  of 
the  more  popular  sort.  While,  for  example,  England  has  only 
two  really  important  philosophical  magazines,  America  has  at 
least  five  which  are  as  good  as  the  English;  and  if  philosophy 
is  taken  in  the  customary  wider  sense,  sociological  and  peda- 
gogical journals  must  be  included,  which  are  nowhere  surpassed. 
The  emphasis  is  laid  differently  in  America  and  Germany;  and 
this  difference,  which  may  be  seen  in  almost  all  sciences,  gen- 
erally, though  not  always,  has  deeper  grounds  than  merely 
personal  ones,  and  is  in  every  case  apt  to  distort  the  judgment 
of  a  foreigner.  America,  for  instance,  is  astonishingly  unpro- 
ductive in  the  history  of  philosophy.  Every  need  seems  to  be 
satisfied  by  translations  from  the  German  or  by  very  perfunc- 
tory text-book  compilations.  On  the  other  hand,  the  theory 
of  knowledge,  ethics,  and  above  all  psychology,  are  very  pros- 
perous. Disputes  in  epistemology  have  always  been  carried  on 
in  America,  and  the  Calvinistic  theology,  more  especially,  arrived 
at  important  conclusions.  At  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth 
century  lived  Jonathan  Edwards,  who  was  perhaps  the  greatest 
metaphysical  mind  in  the  history  of  America.  The  transcen- 
dental way  of  thought,  which  is  profoundly  planted  in  the  Ameri- 
can soul,  was  nurtured  by  German  idealism,  and  found  expression 
through  the  genius  of  Emerson.  Then,  in  more  systematic  and 
academic  ways,  there  have  been  philosophers  like  Porter  and  Mc- 
Cosh,  who  stood  under  Scotch  influence  and  fought  against  posi- 
tivism; others,  like  Harris  and  Everett,  who  have  represented  Ger- 
man tendencies;  while  Draper,  Fiske,  Cope,  Leconte,  and  others 
have  preached  the  philosophy  of  science.  In  the  front  ranks  to- 
day of  philosophers  are  Ladd,  Dewey,  Fullerton,  Bowne,  Ormond, 
Howison,  Santayana,  Palmer,  Strong,  Hibben,  Creighton,  Lloyd, 
and  most  influential  of  all,  Royce,  whose  latest  work,  "The 
World  and  the  Individual,"  is  perhaps  the  most  significant 
epistemological  system  of  our  day. 

Psychology  is  the  most  favoured  of  all  the  philosophical  disci- 
plines in  America  at  the  present  time.  This  is  shown  outwardly 
in  the  growth  of  laboratories  for  experimental  psychology,  which 
in  size  and  equipment  far  exceed  those  of  Europe.  America  has 
more  than  forty  laboratories.  Foremost  in  this  psychological 


438  THE  AMERICANS 

movement  is  William  James,  who  is,  next  to  Wundt,  the  most  dis- 
tinguished psychologist  living,  and  whose  remarkable  analysis 
of  conscious  phenomena  has  been  set  down  with  a  freshness  and 
liveliness,  an  energy  and  discrimination,  which  are  highly  charac- 
teristic of  American  intellect.  Then  there  are  other  well-known 
investigators  like  Stanley  Hall,  Cattell,  Baldwin,  Ladd,  Sanford, 
Titchener,  Angell,  Miss  Calkins,  Scripture,  and  many  others.  In 
pedagogy,  which  is  now  disporting  itself  in  a  great  display  of 
paper  and  ink,  the  names  of  Harris,  Eliot,  Butler,  Hall,  Da  Garmo, 
and  Hanus  are  the  most  respected. 

Just  as  theological  and  metaphysical  speculations,  ever  since 
the  early  Colonial  days,  have  preceded  present-day  scientific  philos- 
ophy, so  in  the  science  of  history  systematic  investigators  were 
preceded  in  early  days  by  the  Colonial  historians,  beginning  with 
Bradford  and  Winthrop.  A  people  which  are  so  restless  to  make 
history,  so  proud  of  their  doings,  so  grateful  to  their  heroes,  and 
which  more  than  any  other  people  base  their  law  and  public  policy 
avowedly  on  precedent,  will  necessarily  have  enjoyed  the  recount- 
ing of  their  own  past.  America  has  had  a  systematic  history,  how- 
ever, only  since  the  thirties,  and  two  periods  of  work  are  generally 
distinguished;  an  earlier  one,  in  which  historians  undertook  to 
cover  the  whole  subject  of  American  history,  or  at  least  very  large 
portions  of  it,  and  a  later  period  embracing  the  last  decade,  in 
which  historical  interest  has  been  devoted  to  minuter  studies. 
Bancroft  and  Parkman  stand  for  the  first  movement.  George 
Bancroft  began  to  write  his  history  in  1830,  and  worked  patiently 
thereon  for  half  a  century.  By  1883  the  development  of  the  coun- 
try, from  its  discovery  up  to  the  adoption  of  the  American  Consti- 
tution, had  been  completed  in  a  thorough-going  fashion.  Park- 
man was  the  greater  genius,  and  one  who  opened  an  entirely  new 
perspective  in  American  history  by  his  investigations  and  fascinat- 
ing descriptions  of  the  wars  between  the  English  and  the  French 
colonists.  The  great  works  of  Hildreth  and  Tucker  should  also 
be  mentioned  here. 

The  period  of  specialized  work,  of  course,  covers  less  ground. 
The  large  monographs  of  Henry  Adams,  John  Fiske,  Rhodes, 
Schouler,  McMaster,  Eggleston,  Roosevelt,  and  of  Von  Hoist,  if 
an  adoptive  son  of  America  may  be  included,  are  accounted  the 
best  pieces  of  work.  They  have  described  American  history 


SCIENCE  439 

partly  by  geographical  regions  and  partly  by  periods;  and  they 
show  great  diversity  of  style,  as  may  be  seen  by  comparing  the 
martial  tone  of  Hoist  and  the  majestic  calmness  of  Rhodes.  To 
these  must  be  added  the  biographies,  of  which  the  best  known 
form  the  series  of  "American  Statesmen."  Americans  are  par- 
ticularly fond  of  studying  a  portion  of  national  history  from  the 
life  of  some  especially  active  personality.  Then  too,  for  twenty 
years,  there  has  been  a  considerable  and  indispensable  fabrication 
of  historical  research.  Large  general  works  and  reference  books, 
like  those  of  Winsor,  Hart,  and  others;  the  biographies,  archive 
studies,  correspondences,  local  histories,  often  published  by 
learned  societies;  series  of  monographs,  journals,  the  chief  of 
which  is  the  American  Historical  Review  —  in  short,  everything 
necessary  to  the  modern  cultivation  of  historical  science  are  to 
be  found  abundantly.  The  Revolution,  the  beginnings  of  the 
Federation,  the  Civil  War,  and  Congress  are  specially  favoured 
topics.  It  is  almost  a  matter  of  course  that  the  independent  inves- 
tigation into  European  history  is  very  little  attempted;  although 
very  good  things  have  been  done,  such  as  Prescott's  work  on 
Spanish  history,  Motley's  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic;  and  in 
recent  times,  for  instance,  Taylor  has  made  important  studies  in 
English  history,  Perkins  in  French,  Henderson  in  German,  Thayer 
in  Italian,  Lea  and  Emerton  in  ecclesiastical  history,  Mahan  in 
the  history  of  naval  warfare,  and  similarly  others. 

This  lively  interest  in  philosophy  and  history  is  itself  enough 
to  disprove  the  old  fable  that  American  science  is  directed  only 
toward  material  ends.  Perhaps,  to  be  sure,  some  one  might  say 
that  philosophy  is  practiced  to  better  mankind  and  history  to 
teach  politicians  some  practical  lessons,  while  both  statements 
are  in  point  of  fact  false.  No  such  charge,  however,  can  be  made 
against  classical  philology;  and  yet  no  one  can  read  the  trans- 
actions, which  constitute  many  volumes,  of  the  five  hundred  mem- 
bers of  the  Philological  Association,  or  read  the  numbers  of  the 
American  Journal  of  Philology,  or  the  classical  studies  published 
by  Harvard,  Cornell,  and  Chicago,  without  feeling  distinctly  that 
here  is  scientific  work  of  the  strictest  sort,  and  that  the  methods 
of  investigations  are  steadily  improving.  The  movement  is 
younger  in  this  department  than  in  the  others.  To  be  sure,  the 
classical  authors  have  been  well  known  in  America  for  two  cen- 


440  THE  AMERICANS 

turies;  but  in  no  province  has  the  dilettanteism  of  the  English 
gentleman  so  thoroughly  prevailed.  It  was  not  until  the  young 
philologians  commenced  to  visit  German  universities,  and  espe- 
cially Gottingen,  that  a  thorough-going  philology  was  introduced. 
And  such  a  work  as  the  forty-four  students  of  the  great  classicist, 
Gildersleeve,  published  on  the  occasion  of  his  seventieth  birthday, 
would  have  been  impossible  twenty  years  ago.  The  greatest  in- 
terest is  devoted  to  syntactical  investigation,  in  which  the  best- 
known  works  are  those  of  Goodwin,  Gildersleeve,  and  Hale;  while 
there  are  some  works  on  lexicography  and  comparative  languages, 
and  fewer  still  on  textual  criticism.  Every  classical  philologian 
knows  the  names  of  Hadley,  Beck,  Allen,  Lane,  Warren,  Smyth, 
White,  Wheeler,  Shorey,  Dressier,  and  many  others. 

There  is  an  unusual  interest  in  Oriental  philology,  which  is 
slightly  influenced  indeed  by  practical  motives.  For  instance, 
the  great  religious  interest  taken  in  the  Bible  —  not  by  scientists, 
but  by  the  general  public  —  has  sent  out  special  expeditions  and 
done  much  to  advance  the  study  of  cuneiform  inscriptions.  The 
Assyrian  collections  of  the  University  of  Pennsylvania  are  account- 
ed, in  many  respects,  the  most  complete  in  existence.  Its  curator, 
Hilprecht,  is  well  known,  and  Lyon,  Haupt,  and  others  almost  as 
well.  Whitney,  of  Yale,  was  undoubtedly  the  leader  in  Sanskrit. 
Lanman,  of  Harvard,  is  his  most  famous  successor,  and  besides 
him  are  Jackson,  Buck,  Bloomfield,  and  others.  Toy  is  the  great 
authority  on  Semitic  languages. 

It  would  lead  us  too  far  away  if  we  were  to  follow  philological 
science  into  modern  languages.  As  a  matter  of  course,  the  Eng- 
lish language  and  literature  are  the  most  studied;  in  fact,  English 
philology  has  had  its  real  home  in  the  New  World  since  the  days 
of  Child.  Francis  James  Child,  one  of  the  most  winning  person- 
alities in  the  history  of  American  scholarship,  has  contributed 
much  on  Chaucer  and  ancient  English  dramas;  and  as  his  great 
work,  has  gathered  together  English  and  Scottish  ballads  into  a 
collection  of  ten  volumes.  This  work  has  often  been  esteemed 
as  America's  greatest  contribution  to  philology.  Kittredge,  who 
has  succeeded  Child  at  Harvard,  works  on  much  the  same  lines. 
Lounsbury  is  known  especially  for  his  brilliant  works  on  Chaucer; 
Manley  has  also  studied  Chaucer  and  the  pre-Shakesperian 
drama;  Gummere  the  early  ballads,  while  Wendell  and  Furness 


SCIENCE  441 

are  the  great  Shakesperian  scholars.  The  Arthurian  legends  have 
been  especially  studied  by  Schofield,  Mead,  Bruce,  and  others; 
the  Anglo-Saxon  language  by  Bright,  Cook,  Brown,  and  Calla- 
way.  Lowell  was  the  first  great  critic  of  literature,  and  he  has 
been  followed  by  Gates  and  many  others.  The  belles-lettres  them- 
selves have  given  rise  to  a  large  historical  and  critical  literature, 
such  as  the  admirable  general  works  of  Steadman,  Richardson, 
and  Tyler,  and  the  monographs  by  Woodberry,  Cabot,  Norton, 
Warner,  and  Higginson.  The  very  best  work,  however,  on  Amer- 
ican literature,  in  spite  of  all  aspersions  cast  on  the  extreme  aristo- 
crat, is  Barrett  Wendell's  "  Literary  History  of  America."  We 
might  mention  a  long  list  of  works  on  Romance  and  Germanic 
languages  and  literature.  At  least  emphasis  must  be  laid  on  one, 
Kuno  Francke's  extraordinary  book  on  "  Social  Influences  in  Ger- 
man Literature,"  the  work  of  the  most  gifted  herald  of  German 
culture  in  America.  We  may  also  mention  the  works  of  Thomas 
and  Hempl  in  Germanic,  and  Todd,  Elliot,  and  Cohn  in  romance 
languages. 

Political  economy  is  the  favourite  study  of  the  American,  since 
the  history  of  this  country  has  been  determined  by  economic 
factors  more  directly  than  that  of  any  other  nation,  and  since  all 
the  different  economic  periods  have  been  lived  through  in  the  still 
surveyable  past.  In  a  sense,  the  country  looks  like  a  tremendous 
experimental  laboratory  of  political  economy.  The  country  is  so 
unevenly  developed  that  the  most  diverse  economic  stages  are  to 
be  found  in  regions  which  are  geographically  near  each  other,  and 
everything  goes  on,  as  it  were,  under  the  scientific  magnifying  glass 
of  the  statistical  student.  Remarkably  enough,  the  actual  history 
of  economics  has  been  rather  neglected  in  American  studies, in  spite 
of  many  beginnings  made  in  Germany  on  the  history  of  American 
economics.  The  chief  attention  of  the  nation  has  been  given- 
rather  to  the  systematic  analysis  and  deductive  investigation  of 
special  conditions.  In  political  economy  there  are,  of  course,  first 
the  well-known  agitators  like  Henry  Carey,  the  great  protection- 
ist of  the  first  half  of  the  century;  Henry  George,  the  single-tax 
theorist,  whose  book,  "Progress  and  Poverty,"  found  in  1879  ex- 
traordinary circulation;  and  Bellamy,  whose  "Utopia"  was  in  much 
the  same  style:  and  the  political  tracts  on  economic  subjects  are 
far  too  numerous  to  think  of  mentioning.  The  really  scientific 


442  THE  AMERICANS 

works  form  another  group.  At  first  we  find  the  pioneer  efforts  of 
the  seventies  and  eighties  —  Wells's  work  on  tariff  and  commerce, 
Charles  Francis  Adams's  work  on  railways,  Sumner's  on  the  history 
of  American  finance,  Atkinson's  on  production  and  distribution, 
Wright's  on  wages,  Knox's  on  banking,  and  the  general  treatises 
of  Walker,  who  conducted  the  censuses  of  1870  and  1880.  In 
recent  times  the  chief  works  are  those  of  Hadley  on  railroads,  of 
Clark  on  capital,  of  James  on  political  finance  and  municipal 
administration,  of  Ely  on  taxation,  of  Taussig  on  tariff,  silver 
and  wages,  of  Jenks  on  trusts,  of  Brooks  on  labour  movements, 
of  Seligman  on  the  politics  of  taxation,  of  H.  C.  Adams  on  scien- 
tific finance,  of  Gross  on  the  history  of  English  economics,  of 
Patten  on  economic  theory,  and  of  Lowell  on  the  science  of 
government.  Moreover,  the  political  economists  and  students 
of  government  have  an  unusually  large  number  of  journals 
at  their  disposal.  In  sociology  there  are  Giddings,  Small,  and 
Ward,  known  everywhere,  and  after  them  Willcox,  Ripley, 
and  others. 

We  have  spent  too  much  time  over  the  historical  disciplines. 
Let  us  look  at  the  opposite  pole  of  the  scientific  globe  from  the 
mental  sciences  to  the  natural  sciences,  and  at  first  to  mathematics. 
Mathematicians  were  especially  late  in  waking  up  to  really  scien- 
tific achievements;  and  this  was  scarcely  ten  years  ago,  so  that  all 
the  productive  mathematicians  are  the  younger  professors.  Of 
the  older  period,  there  are  but  three  mathematicians  of  great  impor- 
tance—  Benjamin  Peirce,  perhaps  the  most  brilliant  of  American 
mathematicians,  and  his  pupils,  Hill  and  Newcomb.  Their 
chief  interest  has  been  mathematical  astronomy.  Of  their  gene- 
ration are  also  Willard  Gibbs  in  mathematical  physics,  McClin- 
tock  in  algebra,  and  Charles  Peirce  in  mathematical  logic.  In 
the  last  ten  years,  it  is  no  longer  a  question  of  a  few  great  names. 
The  younger  generation  has  taken  its  inspiration  from  Germany 
and  France,  and  is  busily  at  work  in  pure  mathematics;  there  are 
Moore  and  Dixon,  of  Chicago;  Storey  and  Taber,  of  Clark;  Bocher 
and  Osgood,  of  Harvard;  White  at  Evanston;  Van  Vleck  at  Wes- 
leyan,  and  many  others. 

We  find  again,  in  the  natural  sciences,  that  the  American  by  no 
means  favours  only  practical  studies.  There  is  no  less  practical  a 
science  than  astronomy,  and  yet  we  find  a  series  of  great  successes. 


SCIENCE  443 

This  is  externally  noticeable  in  a  general  interest  in  astronomy; 
no  other  country  in  the  world  has  so  many  well-equipped  obser- 
vatories as  the  United  States,  and  no  other  country  manufactures 
such  perfect  astronomical  lenses.  America  has  perfected  the 
technique  of  astronomy.  Roland,  for  instance,  has  improved  the 
astronomical  spectroscope,  and  Pickering  has  made  brilliant  con- 
tributions to  photometry.  The  catalogue  of  stars  by  Gould  and 
Langley  is  an  indispensable  work,  and  America  has  contributed 
its  full  share  to  the  observation  of  asteroids  and  comets.  New- 
comb,  however,  who  is  the  leader  since  forty  years,  has  done  the 
most  brilliant  work,  in  his  thorough  computations  of  stellar  paths 
and  masses.  We  should  also  not  forget  Chandler's  determination 
of  magnitudes,  Young's  work  on  the  sun,  Newton's  on  meteor- 
ites, and  Barnard's  on  comets. 

Surprisingly  enough,  the  development  of  scientific  physics  has 
been  less  brilliant  so  far.  Only  in  optics  has  really  anything 
of  high  importance  been  done;  but  in  this  field  there  have  been 
such  accomplishments  as  Michelson's  measurements  of  light- 
waves, Rowland's  studies  of  concave  gratings,  Newcomb's  meas- 
urements on  the  speed  of  light,  and  Langley's  studies  of  the  ultra- 
red  rays.  In  all  other  fields  the  work  is  somewhat  disconnected; 
although,  to  be  sure,  in  the  branches  of  electricity,  acoustics,  and 
heat,  important  discoveries  have  been  made  by  Trowb ridge, Wood- 
ward, Barus,  Wood,  Cross,  Nichols,  Hall,  B.  O.  Pierce,  Sabine, 
and  many  others.  In  purely  technical  subjects,  especially  those 
related  to  electricity,  much  has  been  done  of  serious  scientific 
importance  ;  and  these  triumphs  in  technical  branches  are,  of 
course,  famous  throughout  the  world.  From  the  hand  tool  of  the 
workman  to  locomotives  and  bridges,  American  mechanics  have 
been  victorious.  Applied  physics  has  yielded  the  modern  bicycle, 
the  sewing-machine,  the  printing-press,  tool-making  machinery, 
and  a  thousand  other  substitutes  for  muscular  labour;  has  also 
perfected  the  telegraph,  the  incandescent  lamp,  the  telephone  and 
the  phonograph,  and  every  day  brings  some  new  laurel  to  the 
American  inventor.  But  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Edison, 
Tesla,  and  Bell  are  the  sole  representatives  of  American  physics. 
Quiet  scientific  work  of  the  highest  order  is  carried  on  in  a  dozen 
laboratories.  Meteorology  ought  to  be  mentioned  as  a  branch 
of  physics;  it  has  been  favoured  by  the  large  field  of  observation 


444  THE  AMERICANS 

which  America  offers  and  has  developed  brilliantly  under  Ferrel, 
Hazen,  Greely,  Harrington,  Mendenhall,  Rotch,  and  others. 

It  is  still  more  true  of  chemistry  than  of  physics  that  advance 
has  been  independent  of  the  industrial  application  of  science. 
The  leading  chemists  have  all  worked  in  the  interests  of  pure 
science;  and  this  work  started  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  century, 
when  Benjamin  Silliman,  of  Yale,  the  editor  of  the  first  magazine 
for  natural  science,  laid  the  foundations  for  his  scientific  school. 
He  was  followed  in  succeeding  generations  by  Hare,  Smith,  Hunt, 
and  most  notably  Cooke,  whose  studies  on  the  periodic  law  and 
the  atomic  weight  of  oxygen  are  specially  valuable.  Of  later  men 
there  are  Willard  Gibbs,  the  Nestor  of  chemical  thermo-dynam- 
ics,  who  became  famous  by  his  theory  of  the  phase  rule,  and 
Wolcott  Gibbs  through  his  studies  on  complex  acids.  Crafts  is 
known  for  his  researches  into  organic  compounds,  and  Mallet 
by  classical  investigations  into  the  atomic  weight  of  aluminum. 
Other  valuable  contributions  have  been  Hillebrand's  analysis  of 
minerals,  Stieglitz's  organic  syntheses,  Noyes's  studies  on  ions,  the 
work  of  Clark  and  Richards  on  atomic  weights,  Gooch's  technical 
discoveries,  Hill's  synthetic  production  of  benzol  compounds, 
Warren's  work  with  mineral  oils,  Baskerville's  study  of  thorium, 
not  to  mention  the  highly  prized  text-books  of  Ira  Remsen,  the  dis- 
coverer of  saccharin.  Among  the  physiological  and  agricultural 
chemists,  the  best  known  are  Chittenden,  Pfaff,  Atwater,  and  Hil- 
gard.  The  pioneer  of  physical  chemistry  is  Richards,  of  Harvard, 
probably  the  only  American  professor  so  far  who  has  been  called 
to  the  position  of  a  full  professor  at  a  German  university.  He 
remained  in  America,  although  invited  to  Gottingen.  Bancroft 
and  Noyes  are  at  work  on  the  same  branch  of  chemistry. 

The  work  in  chemistry  is  allied  in  many  ways  to  mineralogy, 
petrography,  and  geology.  Oddly  enough,  mineralogy  has  centred 
distinctly  at  one  place  —  Yale  University.  The  elder  Dana  used 
to  work  there,  whose  "System  of  Mineralogy"  first  appeared  in 
1837,  and  while  frequently  revised  has  remained  for  half  a  cen- 
tury the  standard  book  in  any  language;  Dana's  chemical  classi- 
fication of  minerals  has  also  found  general  acceptance.  His  son, 
the  crystallographer,  worked  here,  as  also  Brush  and  Penfield, 
who  has  investigated  more  kinds  of  stone  than  any  other  living 
man.  Beside  these  well-known  leaders,  there  are  such  men  as 


SCIENCE  445 

Lawrence  Smith,  Cooke,  Gerth,  Shepard,  and  Wolff.  The  ad- 
vances in  geology  have  been  still  more  brilliant,  since  nature  made 
America  an  incomparable  field  of  study.  Hall  had  already  made 
an  early  beginning  here,  and  Dana  and  Whitney,  Hayden  and 
King,  Powell  and  Gilbert,  Davis,  Shaler,  and  Branner  have  con- 
tinued the  work.  Remains  of  the  Glacial  Epoch  and  mountain 
formation  have  been  the  favourite  topics.  And  the  investigation 
which  has  frequently  been  connected  with  practical  mining  in- 
terests is  among  the  most  important,  and  in  Europe  the  most 
highly  regarded  of  American  scientific  achievements. 

Closely  related  to  the  geological  are  the  geographical  studies. 
The  Government  Bureau  of  Survey  figures  prominently  here, 
by  reason  of  its  magnificent  equipment.  Most  famous  are  the 
coast  surveys  of  Pache  and  Mendenhall,  and  the  land  surveys 
of  Rogers,  Whitney,  and  Gannet.  The  hydrographic  investiga- 
tions of  Maury  have  perhaps  had  more  influence  on  geography, 
and  his  physical  geography  of  the  ocean  has  opened  up  new  lines 
of  inquiry;  Guyot  has  done  most  to  spread  the  interests  of  geog- 
raphy. Americans  have  always  been  greatly  interested  in  expedi- 
tions to  dangerous  lands,  wherefore  many  Americans  have  been 
pioneers,  missionaries,  and  scientific  travellers.  In  this  spirit 
Lewis  and  Clark  explored  the  Northwest,  Wilkes  crossed  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  Perry  went  to  Japan,  and  Stanley  to  Africa;  others 
have  travelled  to  South  America,  and  many  expeditions  have  been 
started  for  the  North  Pole  since  the  first  expedition  of  Kane  in 
1853.  Palaeontology  has  been  well  represented  in  America,  and 
has  contributed  a  good  deal  to  the  advance  in  geology.  Hall  com- 
menced the  work  with  studies  on  invertebrate  fossils;  then  came 
Hyatt,  who  studied  fossil  cephalopods,  Scudder  fossil  insects, 
Beecher  brachiopods;  and  then  Leidy,  Cope,  Osborne,  and  above 
all,  the  great  scientist,  Marsh  —  all  of  whom  have  studied  fossil 
vertebrates. 

Almost  every  one  of  these  men  was  at  the  same  time  a  systematic 
zoologist.  Especially  in  former  days,  many  young  men  devoted 
themselves  to  systematic  zoology  under  the  leadership  of  Audubon, 
whose  pioneer  work  on  "The  Birds  of  America"  appeared  in 
1827;  then  later  of  Say,  the  first  investigator  of  butterflies  and 
mussels;  and  still  later  of  Louis  Agassiz,  the  great  student  of 
jelly-fish,  hydroids  and  polyps,  whose  son,  Alexander  Agassiz,  has 


446  THE  AMERICANS 

carried  on  the  famous  studies  of  coral  islands.  Besides  these  men 
have  laboured  LeConte,  Gill,  Packard,  and  Verrill  in  the  province 
of  invertebrates;  Baird,  Ridgeway,  Huntingdon,  Allen,  Meriam, 
and  Jordan  in  the  field  of  vertebrates.  At  the  present  time  in- 
terest in  America  as  well  as  in  Europe  is  turning  toward  histology 
and  embryology.  Here,  too,  the  two  Agassizes  have  taken  the 
lead,  the  senior  Agassiz  with  his  studies  on  turtles,  the  younger 
Agassiz  in  studies  on  starfishes.  Next  to  theirs  come  the  admi- 
rable works  of  Wyman,  Whitman,  Brooks,  Minot,  Mark,  and  Wil- 
son, and  the  investigations  of  Davenport  on  the  subject  of  varia- 
tion. The  phenomenon  of  life  has  been  studied  now  by  zoologists 
and  again  by  biologists  and  physiologists.  Here  belong  the  re- 
searches into  the  conscious  life  of  lower  animals  carried  on  by 
Lee  and  Parker,  and  the  excellent  investigations  of  the  German- 
American  Jacques  Loeb,  of  California,  who  has  placed  the  trop- 
isms  of  animals  and  the  processes  of  fertilization  in  a  wholly 
new  light.  Of  his  colleagues  in  physiology,  the  best  known  are 
Bowditch,  Howell,  Porter,  and  Meltzer. 

The  highest  organism  which  the  natural  scientist  can  study 
is  man,  taken  not  historically,  but  anthropologically.  The  Ameri- 
can has  been  forced  to  turn  to  anthropology  and  to  ethnology, 
since  circumstances  have  put  at  his  hand  some  hundred  types  of 
Indians,  with  the  most  diverse  languages  and  customs,  and  since, 
moreover,  peoples  have  streamed  from  every  part  of  the  world  to 
this  country;  millions  of  African  negroes  are  here,  the  ground  is 
covered  with  the  remains  of  former  Indian  life,  and  the  strange 
civilizations  of  Central  America  have  left  their  remains  near 
by.  The  Ethnological  Bureau  at  Washington  and  the  Peabody 
Museum  at  Harvard  have  instituted  many  expeditions  and  in- 
vestigations. In  recent  times  the  works  of  Morgan,  Hale, 
Brinton,  Powell,  Dall,  Putnam,  McGee,  and  Boas  have  opened 
new  perspectives,  especially  on  the  subject  of  the  American 
Indian. 

The  American  flora  has  contributed  no  less  new  material  to 
science  than  the  American  fauna.  European  botanists  had  com- 
menced the  work  with  tours  of  observation,  when  in  the  middle 
of  the  last  century  Asa  Gray  began  his  admirable  life-work.  He 
was  in  the  closest  sympathy  with  European  botanists,  and  pub- 
lished in  all  more  than  four  hundred  papers  on  the  classification 


SCIENCE  44.7 

and  systematic  study  of  the  profuse  material.  Gray  died  in  1888, 
undoubtedly  the  greatest  botanist  that  America  has  produced. 
His  labours  have  been  supplemented  by  his  teacher,  Torrey;  by 
Chapman,  who  worked  up  the  southeastern  part  of  the  country; 
by  scientific  travellers,  such  as  Wright  and  Watson;  by  Engelmann, 
who  studied  cacti;  Bebb,  who  studied  the  fields;  by  Coulter,  the 
expert  on  the  plants  of  the  Rocky  Mountains;  by  Bailey  and  many 
others.  This  great  work  is  more  or  less  pervaded  by  the  ideas  of 
Gray;  but  in  the  last  twenty  years  it  has  branched  off  in  several 
directions  under  a  number  of  leaders.  Farlow  has  reached  out 
into  cryptogamic  botany,  Goodale  into  plant  physiology,  and 
Sargent  into  dendrology.  There  has  been,  moreover,  consider- 
able specialization  and  subdivision  of  labour  in  the  botanical  gar- 
dens of  New  York,  Boston,  and  St.  Louis,  and  the  herbaria  and 
botanical  institutes  of  various  universities  and  of  the  agricultural 
experiment  stations.  These  institutions  put  forth  publications 
under  the  editorship  of  such  able  botanists  as  Robinson,  Trelease, 
Fernald,  Smith,  and  True;  and  these  works  are  not  excelled  by 
those  of  any  other  country. 

We  have  had,  perhaps,  too  much  of  mere  names;  and  yet  these 
have  been  only  examples,  calculated  to  show  the  strength  and  the 
weakness  of  the  scientific  development  of  America.  We  have 
sought  specially  to  keep  within  the  limits  of  the  "philosophical 
faculties."  It  would  be  interesting  to  go  into  the  subjects  of 
theology,  law  and  medicine,  and  of  technology  in  a  similar  way; 
but  it  would  lead  too  far.  Yet  whether  the  unprejudiced  observer 
considers  such  disciplines  as  we  have  described,  or  whether  he 
looks  out  into  neighbouring  academic  fields,  he  will  find  the  same 
flourishing  condition  of  things  —  a  bold,  healthy,  and  intelligent 
progress,  with  a  complete  understanding  of  the  true  aim  of  science, 
with  tireless  industry,  able  organization,  and  optimistic  energy. 

Of  course,  the  actual  achievements  are  very  uneven;  they  are,  in 
some  directions,  superior  to  those  of  England  and  France  —  in  a 
few  directions  even  to  those  of  Germany,  but  in  others  far  inferior  to 
German  attainments.  We  have  seen  that  the  conditions  a  short  time 
ago  were  unfortunate  for  science,  and  that  only  recently  have  they 
given  way  to  more  favourable  factors.  Most  people  see  such 
favourable  factors  first  of  all  in  the  financial  support  offered  to 
the  investigator;  but  the  chief  aid  for  such  work  does  not  lie  in 


44.8  THE  AMERICANS 

the  providing  of  appliances.  Endowments  can  do  no  more  than 
supply  books,  apparatus,  laboratories,  and  collections  for  those 
who  wish  to  study,  but  all  that  never  makes  a  great  scientist;  the 
average  level  of  study  may  be  improved  by  material  support,  but 
it  will  never  be  brought  above  a  certain  level  of  mediocrity.  For, 
after  all,  science  depends  chiefly  on  the  personal  factor;  and  good 
men  can  do  everything,  even  on  narrow  means. 

The  more  important  factor  in  the  opulence  which  science  now 
enjoys  is  an  indirect  one;  it  improves  the  social  status  of  scientific 
workers,  so  that  better  human  material  is  now  attracted  to  the 
scientific  career.  As  long  as  scientific  life  meant  poverty  and 
dependence,  the  only  people  attracted  to  it  were  men  of  the  school- 
teaching  stamp;  the  better  men  have  craved  something  fuller  and 
greater,  and  have  wished  to  expend  their  strength  in  the  more 
thoroughly  living  province  of  industrial  and  commercial  life, 
where  alone  the  great  social  premiums  were  to  be  found.  But 
now  the  case  is  different.  Science  has  been  recognized  by  the 
nation;  scientific  and  university  life  has  become  rich  in  significance, 
the  professor  is  no  longer  a  school-teacher,  and  the  right  kind  of 
young  scholar  is  stepping  into  the  arena.  Another  factor  is  work- 
ing in  the  same  direction.  Substantial  families  are  coming  to  the 
third  generation,  when  they  go  over  from  trade  to  art  and  science. 
The  sons  of  the  best  people  with  great  vitality  and  great  person- 
ality prefer  now  to  work  in  the  laboratory  rather  than  in  the  bank. 
Each  one  brings  Yankee  intelligence  and  Yankee  energy  with 
him.  This  social  reappraisement  of  science,  and  its  effect  on 
the  quality  of  men  who  become  productive  scholars,  are  the  best 
indication  of  the  coming  greatness  of  American  science. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

Literature 

WHAT  does  the  American  read  ?  In  '  'Jorn  Uhl, "  the 
apprentice  in  the  Hamburg  bookshop  says  to  his  friend : 
"  If  I  am  to  tell  you  how  to  be  wise  and  cunning,  then  go 
where  there  are  no  books.  Do  you  know,  if  I  had  not  had  my  father, 
I  should  have  gone  to  America  —  for  a  fact!  And  it  would  have 
gone  hard  with  anybody  who  poked  a  book  at  me."  In  that  way 
many  a  man  in  Europe,  who  is  long  past  his  apprenticeship,  still 
pictures  to  himself  America:  Over  in  America  nobody  bothers 
about  books.  And  he  would  not  credit  the  statement  that  no- 
where else  are  so  many  books  read  as  in  America.  The  Ameri- 
can's fondness  for  reading  finds  clearest  expression  in  the  growth 
of  libraries,  and  in  few  matters  of  civilization  is  America  so  well 
fitted  to  teach  the  Old  World  a  lesson.  Europe  has  many  large 
and  ancient  collections  of  books,  and  Germany  more  than  all  the 
rest;  but  they  serve  only  one  single  purpose  —  that  of  scientific 
investigation;  they  are  the  laboratories  of  research.  They  are 
chiefly  lodged  with  the  great  universities,  and  even  the  large  mu- 
nicipal libraries  are  mostly  used  by  those  who  need  material  for 
productive  labours,  or  wish  to  become  conversant  with  special 
topics. 

Exactly  the  same  type  of  large  library  has  grown  up  in  America; 
and  here,  too,  it  is  chiefly  the  universities  whose  stock  of  books  is  at 
the  service  of  the  scientific  world.  Besides  these,  there  are  special 
libraries  belonging  to  learned  societies,  state  law  libraries,  special 
libraries  of  government  bureaus  and  of  museums,  and  largest  of 
all  the  Library  of  Congress.  The  collection  of  such  scientific  books 
began  at  the  earliest  colonial  period,  and  at  first  under  theological 
auspices.  The  Calvinist  Church,  more  than  any  other,  inclined 
to  the  study  of  books.  As  early  as  1790  the  catalogue  of  Harvard 


THE  AMERICANS 

College  contained  350  pages,  of  which  150  were  taken  up  by  theo- 
logical works.  Harvard  has  to-day  almost  a  million  books, 
mostly  in  the  department  of  literature,  philology,  history,  philos- 
ophy, and  jurisprudence.  There  are,  moreover,  in  Boston  the 
state  library  of  law,  with  over  a  hundred  thousand  volumes ;  the 
Athenaeum,  with  more  than  two  hundred  thousand  books ;  the 
large  scientific  library  of  the  Institute  of  Technology,  and  many 
others.  Similarly,  in  other  large  cities,  the  university  libraries 
are  the  nucleus  for  scientific  labours,  and  are  surrounded  by 
admirable  special  libraries,  particularly  in  New  York,  Chicago, 
and  Philadelphia.  Then,  too,  the  small  academic  towns,  like 
Princeton,  Ithaca,  New  Haven,  and  others,  have  valuable  col- 
lections of  books,  which  in  special  subjects  are  often  unique.  For 
many  years  the  American  university  libraries  have  been  the  chief 
purchasers  of  the  special  collections  left  by  deceased  European 
professors.  And  it  often  happens,  especially  through  the  gift  of 
grateful  alumni,  that  collections  of  the  greatest  scientific  value, 
which  could  not  be  duplicated,  come  into  the  possession  even  of 
lesser  institutions. 

In  many  departments  of  investigation,  Washington  takes  the 
lead  with  the  large  collection  of  the  various  scientific,  economic, 
and  technical  bureaus  of  the  government.  The  best  known  of 
these  is  the  unique  medical  library  of  the  War  Department. 
Then  there  is  the  Library  of  Congress,  with  many  more  than 
a  million  volumes,  which  to-day  has  an  official  right  to  one 
copy  of  every  book  published  in  the  United  States,  and  so  may 
claim  to  be  a  national  library.  It  is  still  not  comparable  to  the 
many-sided  and  complete  collection  of  the  British  Museum;  the 
national  library  is  one-sided,  or  at  least  shows  striking  gaps. 
Having  started  as  the  Library  of  Congress,  it  has,  aside  from  its 
one  copy  of  every  American  book  and  the  books  on  natural  sci- 
ence belonging  to  the  Smithsonian  Institution,  few  books  except 
those  on  politics,  history,  political  economy,  and  law.  The  lack 
of  space  for  books,  which  existed  until  a  few  years  ago,  made  it 
seem  inexpedient  to  spend  money  for  purposes  other  than  the 
convenience  of  Congressmen.  But  the  American  people,  in  its 
love  for  books,  has  now  erected  such  a  building  as  the  world  had 
never  before  seen  devoted  to  the  storing  of  books.  The  new  Con- 

O 

gressional  Library  was  opened  in  1897,  and  since  the  stacks  have 


LITERATURE  451 

still  room  for  several  million  volumes,  the  library  will  soon  grow 
to  an  all-round  completeness  like  that  at  London.  This  library 
has  a  specially  valuable  collection  of  manuscripts  and  correspond- 
ences. 

All  the  collections  of  books  which  we  have  so  far  mentioned 
are  virtually  like  those  of  Germany.  But  since  they  mostly  date 
from  the  nineteenth  century,  the  American  libraries  are  more 
modern,  and  contain  less  dead  weight  in  the  way  of  unused  folios. 
Much  more  important  is  their  greatly  superior  accessibility. 
Their  reading-rooms  are  more  comfortable  and  better  lighted, 
their  catalogues  more  convenient,  library  hours  longer,  and,  above 
all,  books  are  much  more  easily  and  quickly  delivered.  Brooks 
Adams  said  recently,  about  the  library  at  Washington  as  a  place 
for  work,  that  this  building  is  well-nigh  perfect;  it  is  large,  light, 
convenient,  and  well  provided  with  attendants.  In  Paris  and 
London,  one  works  in  dusty,  forbidding,  and  overcrowded  rooms, 
while  here  the  reading-rooms  are  numerous,  attractive,  and  com- 
fortable. In  the  National  Library  at  Paris,  one  has  to  wait  an 
hour  for  a  book;  in  the  British  Museum,  half  an  hour;  and  in 
Washington,  five  minutes.  This  rapid  service,  which  makes  such 
a  great  difference  to  the  student,  is  found  everywhere  in  America; 
and  everywhere  the  books  are  housed  in  buildings  which  are 
palatial,  although  perhaps  not  so  beautiful  as  the  Washington 
Library. 

Still,  all  these  differences  are  unessential;  in  principle  the  aca- 
demic libraries  are  alike  in  the  New  and  Old  Worlds.  The  great 
difference  between  Europe  and  America  begins  with  the  libraries 
which  are  not  learned,  but  which  are  designed  to  serve  popular 
education.  The  American  public  library  which  is  not  for  science, 
but  for  education,  is  to  the  European  counterpart  as  the  Pullman 
express  train  to  the  village  post-chaise. 

The  scientific  libraries  of  Boston,  including  that  of  Harvard 
University,  contain  nearly  two  million  printed  works;  but  the 
largest  library  of  all  is  distinct  from  these.  It  is  housed  on  Copley 
Square,  in  a  renaissance  palace  by  the  side  of  the  Art  Museum,  and 
opposite  the  most  beautiful  church  in  America.  The  staircase 
of  yellow  marble,  the  wonderful  wall-paintings,  the  fascinating 
arcade  on  the  inner  court,  and  the  sunlit  halls  are  indeed  beau- 
tiful. And  in  and  out,  from  early  morning  till  late  evening,  week- 


4.52  THE  AMERICANS 

day  and  Sunday,  move  the  people  of  Boston.  The  stream  of 
men  divides  in  the  lower  vestibule.  Some  go  to  the  newspaper 
room,  where  several  hundred  daily  newspapers,  a  dozen  of  them 
German,  hang  on  racks.  Others  wander  to  the  magazine  rooms, 
where  the  weekly  and  monthly  papers  of  the  world  are  waiting  to 
be  read.  Others  ascend  to  the  upper  stories,  where  Sargent's 
famous  pictures  of  the  Prophets  allure  the  lover  of  art,  in  order 
to  look  over  more  valuable  special  editions  and  the  art  magazines, 
geographical  charts,  and  musical  works.  The  largest  stream  of 
all  goes  to  the  second  floor,  partly  into  the  huge  quiet  reading- 
room,  partly  into  the  rotunda,  which  contains  the  catalogue,  partly 
into  the  hall  containing  the  famous  frescoes  of  the  Holy  Grail, 
where  the  books  are  given  out.  Here  a  million  and  a  half  books 
are  delivered  every  year  to  be  taken  home  and  read.  And  no  one 
has  to  wait;  an  apparatus  carries  the  applicant's  card  with  wonder- 
ful speed  to  the  stacks,  and  the  desired  book  is  sent  back  in  auto- 
matic cars.  Little  children  meanwhile  wander  into  the  juvenile 
room,  where  they  find  the  best  books  for  children.  And  every- 
thing invites  even  the  least  patient  reader  to  sit  down  quietly  with 
some  sort  of  a  volume  —  everything  is  so  tempting,  so  convenient 
and  comfortable,  and  so  surpassingly  beautiful.  And  all  this  is 
free  to  the  humblest  working-man. 

And  still,  if  the  citizen  of  Massachusetts  were  to  be  asked  of  what 
feature  of  the  public  libraries  he  is  most  proud,  he  would  probably 
not  mention  this  magnificent  palace  in  Boston,  the  capital  of  the 
state,  but  rather  the  350  free  public  libraries  scattered  through 
the  smaller  cities  and  towns  of  this  state,  which  is  after  all  only 
one-third  as  large  as  Bavaria.  It  is  these  many  libraries  which 
do  the  broadest  work  for  the  people.  Each  little  collection,  wher- 
ever it  is,  is  the  centre  of  intellectual  and  moral  enlightenment, 
and  plants  and  nourishes  the  desire  for  self-perfection.  Of 
course,  Massachusetts  has  done  more  in  this  respect  than  any 
other  part  of  the  country  —  especially  more  than  the  South,  which 
is  backward  in  this  respect.  But  there  is  no  longer  any  city  of 
moderate  size  which  has  not  a  large  public  library,  and  there  is 
no  state  which  does  not  encourage  in  every  possible  way  the  estab- 
lishment of  public  libraries  in  every  small  community,  giving 
financial  aid  if  it  is  necessary. 

Public  libraries  have  become  the  favourite  Christmas  present 


LITERATURE  453 

of  philanthropists,  and  while  the  hospitals,  universities,  and  mu- 
seums have  still  no  reason  for  complaint,  the  churches  now  find 
that  superfluous  millions  are  less  apt  to  go  to  gay  church  windows 
than  to  well-chosen  book  collections.  In  the  year  1900  there 
existed  more  than  5,383  public  libraries  having  over  a  thousand 
volumes;  of  these  144  had  more  than  fifty  thousand,  and  54  had 
more  than  a  hundred  thousand  volumes.  All  together  contained, 
according  to  the  statistics  ot  1900,  more  than  forty-four  million 
volumes  and  more  than  seven  million  pamphlets;  and  the  average 
growth  was  over  8  per  cent.  There  are  probably  to-day,  there- 
fore, fifteen  million  volumes  more  on  the  shelves.  The  many 
thousand  libraries  which  have  fewer  than  999  books  are  over  and 
above  all  this. 

The  make-up  of  such  public  libraries  may  be  seen  from  the 
sample  catalogue  gotten  out  by  the  Library  Association  a  few 
years  since,  as  a  typical  collection  of  five  thousand  books.  This 
catalogue  which,  with  the  exception  of  the  most  important  foreign 
classics,  contains  only  books  in  English,  including,  however,  many 
translations,  contains  227  general  reference  books,  756  books  on 
history,  635  on  biography,  413  on  travel,  355  on  natural  science, 
694  in  belles-lettres,  809  novels,  225  on  art,  220  on  religion,  424 
on  social  science,  268  on  technical  subjects,  etc.  The  cost  of 
this  sample  collection  is  $12,000.  The  proportions  between  the 
several  divisions  are  about  the  same  in  larger  collections.  In 
smaller  collections,  belles-lettres  have  a  somewhat  greater  share. 
The  general  interest  taken  by  the  nation  in  this  matter  is  shown 
by  the  fact  that  the  first  edition  of  twenty  thousand  copies  of  this 
sample  catalogue,  of  six  hundred  pages,  was  soon  exhausted. 

The  many-sidedness  of  this  catalogue  points  also  to  the  manifold 
functions  of  the  public  library.  It  is  meant  to  raise  the  educa- 
tional level  of  the  people,  and  this  can  be  done  in  three  ways: 
first,  interest  may  be  stimulated  along  new  lines  ;  second, 
those  who  wish  to  perfect  themselves  in  their  own  subjects  or  in 
whatsoever  special  topics,  may  be  provided  with  technical  liter- 
ature ;  and  third,  the  general  desire  for  literary  entertainment 
may  be  satisfied  by  books  of  the  best  or  at  least  not  of  the  worst 
sort.  The  directors  of  libraries  see  their  duties  to  lie  in  all  three 
directions.  The  libraries  guide  the  tastes  and  interests  of  the 
general  public,  and  try  to  replace  the  ordinary  servant-girl's  novel 


454  THE  AMERICANS 

with  the  best  romances  of  the  day  and  shallow  literature  with 
works  which  are  truly  instructive.  And  no  community  is  quite  con- 
tent until  its  public  library  has  become  a  sort  of  general  meeting- 
place  and  substitute  for  the  saloon  and  the  club.  America  is  the 
working-man's  paradise,  and  attractive  enough  to  the  rich  man; 
but  the  ordinary  man  of  the  middle  classes,  who  in  Germany 
finds  his  chief  comfort  in  the  Bierhalle,  would  find  little  comfort 
in  America  if  it  were  not  for  the  public  library,  which  offers  him 
a  home.  Thus  the  public  library  has  come  to  be  a  recognized 
instrument  of  culture  along  with  the  public  school;  and  in  all 
American  outposts  the  school  teacher  and  librarian  are  among 
the  pioneers. 

The  learned  library  cannot  do  this.  To  be  sure,  the  university 
library  can  help  to  spread  information,  and  conversely  the  public 
library  makes  room  for  thousands  of  volumes  on  all  sorts  of 
scientific  topics.  But  the  emphasis  is  laid  very  differently  in  the 
two  cases,  and  if  it  were  not  so  neither  library  would  best  fulfil  its 
purpose.  The  extreme  quiet  of  the  reference  library  and  the 
bustle  and  stir  of  the  public  library  do  not  go  together.  In  the 
one  direction  America  has  followed  the  dignified  traditions  of 
Europe  ;  in  the  other,  it  has  opened  new  paths  and  travelled  on 
at  a  rapid  pace.  Every  year  discovers  new  ideas  and  plans,  new 
schemes  for  equipment  and  the  selection  of  books,  for  cataloguing, 
and  for  otherwise  gaining  in  utility.  When,  for  instance,  the 
library  in  Providence  commenced  to  post  a  complete  list  of  books 
and  writings  pertaining  to  the  subject  of  every  lecture  which  was 
given  in  the  city,  it  was  the  initiation  of  a  great  movement.  The 
juvenile  departments  are  the  product  of  recent  years,  and  are  con- 
stantly increasing  in  popularity.  There  are  even,  in  some  cases, 
departments  for  blind  readers.  The  state  commissions  are  new, 
and  so  also  the  travelling  libraries,  which  are  carried  from  one 
village  to  another. 

The  great  schools  for  librarians  are  also  new.  The  German 
librarian  is  mostly  a  scholar ;  but  the  American  believes  that  he 
has  improved  on  the  European  library  systems,  not  so  much  by  his 
ample  financial  resources  as  by  having  broken  with  the  academic 
custom,  and  having  secured  librarians  with  a  special  library  train- 
ing. And  since  there  are  such  officials.in  many  thousand  libraries, 
and  the  great  institutions  create  a  constant  demand  for  such 


LITERATURE 

persons,  the  library  schools,  which  offer  generally  a  three  years' 
course,  have  been  found  very  successful. 

Admittedly,  all  this  technical  apparatus  is  expensive;  the  Boston 
library  expends  every  year  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars  for  admin- 
istrative expenses.  But  the  American  taxpayer  supports  this 
more  gladly  than  any  other  burden,  knowing  that  the  public 
library  is  the  best  weapon  against  alcoholism  and  crime,  against 
corruption  and  discontent,  and  that  the  democratic  country  can 
flourish  only  when  the  instinct  of  self-perfection  as  it  exists  in 
every  American  is  thoroughly  satisfied. 

The  reading  of  the  American  nation  is  not  to  be  estimated 
wholly  by  the  books  in  public  libraries,  since  it  also  includes  a 
tremendous  quantity  of  printed  material  that  goes  to  the  home 
of  every  citizen.  Three  hundred  and  forty  American  publishers 
place  their  wares  every  year  on  the  market,  and  the  part  bought 
by  the  public  libraries  is  a  very  small  proportion.  A  successful 
novel  generally  reaches  its  third  hundred  thousand;  of  course, 
such  gigantic  editions  are  limited  to  novels  and  school-books. 
The  number  of  annual  book  publications  is  much  smaller  than 
in  Germany  ;  but  it  must  be  considered  that,  first,  the  American 
electrotype  process  does  not  lend  itself  to  new  and  revised  editions; 
and  that  small  brochures  are  replaced  in  America  by  the  magazine 
articles.  On  the  other  hand,  the  number  of  copies  published 
is  perhaps  larger  than  in  Germany.  And  then,  too,  among  the 
upper  classes,  a  great  many  German,  French,  and  Italian  books 
are  purchased  from  Europe. 

The  great  feature  for  all  classes  of  the  population  is  the  tremen- 
dous production  of  periodical  literature.  Statistics  show  that 
in  the  United  States  in  the  year  1903,  there  were  published  2,300 
daily  papers,  more  than  15,000  weeklies,  2,800  monthlies,  and  200 
quarterlies  —  in  all,  21,000  periodicals.  These  are  more  period- 
icals than  are  published  in  all  Europe;  in  Germany  alone  there 
are  7,500.  The  tremendous  significance  of  these  figures,  par- 
ticularly as  compared  with  the  European,  becomes  clear  only 
when  one  considers  the  number  of  copies  which  these  periodicals 
circulate.  Not  merely  the  newspapers  of  the  three  cities  having 
over  a  million  inhabitants,  but  also  those  of  the  larger  provincial 
towns,  reach  a  circulation  of  hundreds  of  thousands  ;  and  more 
surprising  still  is  the  unparalleled  circulation  of  the  weekly  and 


456  THE  AMERICANS 

monthly  papers.  Huge  piles  of  magazines,  containing  the  most 
serious  sort  of  essays,  are  sold  from  every  news-stand  in  a  few 
hours.  And  anybody  who  knows  New  England  is  not  surprised 
at  the  statement  which  T.  W.  Higginson  makes  in  his  recollec- 
tions, that  he  came  once  to  a  small  Massachusetts  village  of  only 
twenty-four  homes,  nineteen  of  which  subscribed  to  the  Atlantic 
Monthly,  a  publication  which  is  most  nearly  comparable  to  the 
Deutsche  Rundschau. 

The  surprisingly  large  sales  of  expensive  books  among  rich 
families  is  quite  as  gratifying  as  the  huge  consumption  of  magazines 
among  the  middle  classes.  Editions  de  luxe  are  often  sold  entire 
at  fabulous  prices  before  the  edition  is  out,  and  illustrated  scien- 
tific works  costing  hundreds  of  dollars  always  find  a  ready  sale. 
These  are  merely  the  symptoms  of  the  fact  that  every  American 
home  has  its  book-cases  proportionate  to  its  resources,  and  large 
private  libraries  are  found  not  merely  in  the  homes  of  scholars 
and  specialists.  In  the  palaces  of  merchant  princes,  the  library 
is  often  the  handsomest  room,  although  it  is  sometimes  so  papered 
with  books  that  it  looks  as  if  the  architect  had  supplied  them 
along  with  the  rugs  and  chandeliers.  One  more  commonly  finds 
that  the  library  is  the  real  living-room  of  the  house.  If  one  looks 
about  in  such  treasure  apartments,  one  soon  loses  the  sense  of 
wonder  completely;  rare  editions  and  valuable  curiosities  are 
there  brought  together  with  the  greatest  care  and  intelligence 
into  an  appropriate  home.  There  are  probably  very  few  German 
private  houses  with  collections  of  books  and  paintings  comparable, 
for  instance,  to  that  of  J.  Montgomery  Sears  in  Boston.  The 
whole  interior  is  so  wonderfully  harmonious  that  even  the  auto- 
graph poems  and  letters  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  seem  a  matter  of 
course.  But  from  the  book-shelves  of  the  millionaire  to  the  care- 
fully selected  little  shelf  of  the  poor  school-ma'am,  from  the  monu- 
mental home  of  the  national  library  to  the  modest  little  library 
building  of  every  small  village,  from  the  nervous  and  rapid  peru- 
sal of  the  scholar  to  the  slow  making-out  of  the  working-man 
who  pores  over  his  newspaper  on  the  street  corner,  or  of  the  shop- 
girl with  the  latest  novel  in  the  elevated  train,  there  is  everywhere 
life  and  activity  centring  around  the  world  of  print,  and  this 
popularity  of  books  is  growing  day  by  day. 

By  far  the  most  of  what  the  American  reads  is  written  by  Ameri- 


LITERATURE  457 

cans.  This  does  not  mean  that  any  important  book  which  ap- 
pears in  other  parts  of  the  world  escapes  him;  on  the  contrary  just 
as  the  American  everywhere  wants  only  the  best,  uses  the  latest 
machines  and  listens  to  the  most  famous  musicians,  so  in  the 
matter  of  literature  he  is  observant  of  every  new  tendency  in 
poetry,  whether  from  Norway  or  Italy,  and  the  great  works  of  the 
world's  literature  have  their  thoughtful  readers.  There  are  prob- 
ably more  persons  who  read  Dante  in  Boston  than  in  Berlin. 
Of  German  intellectual  productions,  the  scientific  books  are 
most  read,  and  if  strictly  scientific  they  are  read  in  the  original 
by  the  best  educated  Americans;  the  popular  books  are  mostly 
read  in  translation.  Of  the  belles-lettres,  Schiller  and  Lessing 
are  generally  put  aside  with  the  school-books,  while  Goethe  and 
Heine  remain  welcome;  and  beside  them  are  translations  of 
modern  story-writers  from  Freytag  and  Spielhagen  down  to  Suder- 
mann.  French  literature  is  more  apt  to  be  read  in  the  original 
than  German,  but  with  increasing  distaste.  The  moral  feeling 
of  the  American  is  separated  by  such  a  chasm  from  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  Parisian  romance  that  modern  French  literature  has 
never  become  so  popular  in  America  as  it  has  in  Germany. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  English  literature  of  every  sort  has  by 
far  the  greatest  influence;  English  magazines  are  little  read  or 
appreciated,  while  English  poetry,  novels,  dramas,  and  works 
of  general  interest  are  as  much  read  in  America  as  in  England. 
Books  so  unlike  as  the  novels  of  Mrs.  Ward,  of  Du  Maurier,  and 
of  Kipling  have  about  the  same  very  large  circulation;  and  all 
the  standard  literature  of  England,  from  Chaucer  to  Browning, 
forms  the  educational  background  of  every  American,  especially 
of  every  American  woman.  In  spite  of  all  this,  it  remains  true 
that  the  most  of  that  which  is  read  in  the  United  States  is  written 
by  Americans. 

How  and  what  does  the  American  write  ? 

Europe  has  a  ready  answer,  and  pieces  together  a  mental  pic- 
ture of  "echt  amerikanische"  literature  out  of  its  unfriendly  prej- 
udices, mostly  reminiscent  of  Buffalo  Bill  and  Barnum's  circus. 
It  is  still  not  forgotten  how  England  suddenly  celebrated  Joaquin 
Miller's  freakish  and  inartistic  poems  of  the  Western  prairie  as 
the  great  American  achievement,  and  called  this  tasteless  versifier, 
who  was  wholly  unrecognized  in  his  own  country,  the  American 


458  THE  AMERICANS 

Byron.  He  was  not  only  unimportant,  but  he  was  not  typically 
American.  And  of  American  humour  the  European  observer  has 
about  as  just  an  opinion.  Nothing  but  ridiculous  caricatures  are 
considered.  Mark  Twain's  first  writings,  whose  sole  secret  was 
their  wild  exaggeration,  were  more  popular  in  Germany  than  in 
America;  while  the  truly  American  humour  of  Lowell  or  Holmes 
has  lain  unnoticed.  The  American  is  supposed  to  be  quite  desti- 
tute of  any  sense  for  form  or  measure,  and  to  be  in  every  way  in- 
artistic; and  if  any  true  poet  were  to  be  granted  to  the  New  World, 
he  would  be  expected  to  be  noisy  like  Niagara.  In  this  sense 
the  real  literature  of  America  has  hitherto  remained  un-American, 
perhaps  too  un-American.  For  the  main  thing  which  it  has 
lacked  has  been  force.  There  have  been  men  like  Uhland, 
Geibel,  and  Heyse,  but  there  has  so  far  been  no  one  like  Hebbel. 

There  is  no  absolutely  new  note  in  American  literature,  and 
especially  no  one  trait  which  is  common  to  all  American  writings 
and  which  is  not  found  in  any  European.  If  there  is  anything 
unique  in  American  literature,  it  is  perhaps  the  peculiar  com- 
bination of  elements  long  familiar.  An  enthusiastic  American 
has  said  that  to  be  American  means  to  be  both  fresh  and  mature, 
and  this  is  in  fact  a  combination  which  is  new,  and  which  well 
characterizes  the  literary  temperament  of  the  country.  To  be 
fresh  and  young  generally  means  to  be  immature,  and  to  be  ma- 
ture and  seasoned  means  to  have  lost  the  enthusiasm  and  fresh- 
ness of  youth.  Of  course,  this  is  not  a  contradiction  realized.  It 
would  be  impossible,  for  instance,  to  be  both  naive  and  mature; 
but  the  American  is  not  and  never  has  been  nai've.  Just  as  this 
nation  has  never  had  a  childhood,  has  never  originated  ballads, 
epics,  and  popular  songs,  like  other  peoples  during  their  naive 
beginnings,  because  this  nation  brought  with  it  from  Europe  a 
finished  culture;  so  the  vigorous  youthfulness  in  the  national  liter- 
ary temperament  has  in  it  nothing  of  naive  simplicity.  It  is  the 
enthusiasm  of  youth,  but  not  the  innocence  of  boyhood.  It 
would  also  be  impossible  to  be  both  fresh  and  decadent;  the  Ameri- 
can is  mature  but  not  over-ripe,  not  weakened  by  the  sceptical 
ennui  of  senility. 

To  be  fresh  means  to  be  confident,  optimistic  and  eager,  lively, 
unspoiled,  and  courageous;  it  means  to  strive  toward  one's  best 
ideals  with  the  ardour  of  youth;  while  to  be  mature  means  to  under- 


LITERATURE  4.59 

stand  things  in  their  historic  connection,  in  their  true  proportions, 
and  with  a  due  feeling  for  form;  to  be  mature  means  to  be  simple, 
and  reposeful,  and  not  breathlessly  anxious  over  the  outcome 
of  things.  To  be  sure,  this  optimistic  feeling  of  strength,  this 
enthusiastic  self-confidence,  is  hardly  able  to  seize  the  things 
which  are  finest  and  most  subtle.  It  looks  only  into  the  full  sun- 
light, never  into  the  shadows  with  their  less  obvious  beauties. 
There  are  no  half-tones,  no  sentimental  and  uncertain  moods; 
wonder  and  meditation  come  into  the  soul  only  with  pessimism. 
And  most  of  all,  the  enthusiasm  of  youth  not  only  looks  on  but 
wants  to  work,  to  change  and  to  make  over;  and  so  the  American  is 
less  an  artist  than  an  insistent  herald.  Behind  the  observer  stands 
always  the  reformer,  enthusiastic  to  improve  the  world.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  disillusionment  of  maturity  should  have  cooled 
the  passions,  soothed  hot  inspiration,  and  put  the  breathless  tragic 
muse  to  sleep.  It  avoids  dramatic  excitement,  holds  aloof,  and 
looks  on  with  quiet  friendliness  and  sober  understanding  of  man- 
kind. So  it  happens  that  finished  art  is  incompatible  with  such  an 
enthusiastic  eagerness  to  press  onward,  and  sensuous  emotion  is 
incompatible  with  such  an  idealism.  And  so  we  find  in  the 
American  temperament  a  finished  feeling  for  form,  but  a  more 
ethical  than  artistic  content,  and  we  find  humour  without  its 
favourite  attendant  of  sentiment.  Of  course,  the  exceptions 
crowd  quickly  to  mind  to  contradict  the  formula:  had  not  Poe 
the  demoniac  inspiration;  was  not  Hawthorne  a  thorough  artist; 
did  not  Whitman  violate  all  rules  of  form;  and  does  not  Henry 
James  see  the  half-tones  ?  And  still  such  variations  from  the 
usual  are  due  to  exceptional  circumstances,  and  every  formula 
can  apply  only  in  a  general  way. 

Still,  in  these  general  traits,  one  can  see  the  workings  of  great 
forces.  This  enthusiastic  self-confidence  and  youthful  optimism 
in  literature  are  only  another  expression  of  American  initiative, 
which  has  developed  so  powerfully  in  the  fight  with  nature  during 
the  colonial  and  pioneer  days,  and  which  has  made  the  industrial 
power  of  America.  And,  as  Barrett  Wendell  has  shown,  not  a 
little  of  this  enthusiastic  and  spontaneous  character  is  inherited 
from  the  old  English  stock  of  three  hundred  years  ago.  In 
England  itself,  the  industrial  development  changed  the  people; 
the  subjects  of  Queen  Victoria  were  very  little  like  those  of 


460  THE  AMERICANS 

Queen  Elizabeth;  the  spontaneity  of  Shakespeare's  time  no  longer 
suits  the  smug  and  insular  John  Bull.  But  that  same  English 
stock  found  in  America  conditions  that  were  well  calculated  to 
arouse  its  spontaneity  and  enthusiasm. 

Then,  on  the  other  hand,  the  clear,  composed,  and  formal  ma- 
turity which  distinguish  the  literary  work  of  the  new  nation  is 
traceable  principally  to  the  excellent  influence  of  English  liter- 
ature. The  ancient  culture  of  England  spared  this  nation  a 
period  of  immaturity.  Then,  too,  there  has  been  the  intellectual 
domination  of  the  New  England  States,  whose  Puritan  spirit  has 
given  to  literature  its  ethical  quality,  and  at  the  same  time  contrib- 
uted a  certain  quiet  superiority  to  the  common  turmoil.  Through- 
out the  century,  and  even  to-day,  almost  all  of  the  best  literature 
originates  with  those  who  are  consciously  reacting  against  the 
vulgar  taste.  Just  because  the  number  of  sellers  and  readers  of 
books  is  so  much  greater  than  in  Europe,  the  unliterary  circles 
of  readers  who,  as  everywhere,  enjoy  the  broadly  vulgar,  must  by 
their  numbers  excite  the  disgust  of  the  real  friend  of  literature; 
and  this  conscious  duty  of  opposition,  which  becomes  a  sort  of  mis- 
sion, sharpens  the  artistic  consciousness,  fortifies  the  feeling  of 
form,  and  struggles  against  all  that  is  immature. 

Undoubtedly  these  external  conditions  are  as  responsible  for 
many  of  the  failings  of  American  literature  as  for  its  excellences; 
most  of  all  for  the  lack  of  shading  and  twilight  tones,  of  all  that  is 
dreamy,  pessimistic,  sentimental,  and  "  decadent."  This  is  a  lack 
in  the  American  life  which  in  other  important  connections  is  doubt- 
less a  great  advantage.  There  are  no  old  castles,  no  crumbling 
ruins,  no  picturesque  customs,  no  church  mysticism,  nor  wonder- 
ful symbols;  there  are  no  striking  contrasts  between  social  groups, 
no  romantic  vagabondage,  and  none  of  the  fascinating  pomp  of 
monarchy.  Everywhere  is  solid  and  healthy  contentment,  thrifty 
and  well  clothed,  on  broad  streets,  and  under  a  bright  sun.  It  is  no 
accident  that  true  poets  have  not  described  their  own  surroundings, 
but  have  taken  their  material  so  far  as  it  has  been  American,  as 
did  Hawthorne,  from  the  colonial  times  which  were  already  a 
part  of  the  romantic  past,  or  out  of  the  Indian  legends,  or  later 
from  the  remote  adventurous  life  of  the  West,  or  from  the  negro 
life  in  far  Southern  plantations;  the  daily  life  surrounding  the 
poet  was  not  yet  suitable  for  poetry.  And  by  being  so  cruelly 


LITERATURE  461 

clear  and  without  atmosphere  as  not  to  invite  poetic  treatment,  it 
has  left  the  whole  literature  somewhat  glaringly  sharp,  sane,  and 
homely. 

Fiction  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  characteristic  literary  pro- 
ductions; but  also  literature  in  the  broader  sense,  including  every- 
thing which  interprets  human  destinies,  as  history  and  philosophy, 
or  even  more  broadly  including  all  the  written  products  of  the 
nation,  everything  reflects  the  essential  traits  of  the  literary  tem- 
perament. In  fact,  the  practical  literature,  especially  the  news- 
paper, reveals  the  American  physiognomy  most  clearly.  In  better 
circles  in  America,  it  is  proper  to  deplore  the  newspaper  as  a  liter- 
ary product,  and  to  look  on  it  as  a  necessary  evil;  and  doubtless 
most  newspapers  serve  up  a  great  deal  that  is  trivial  and  vulgar, 
and  treat  it  in  a  trivial  and  vulgar  way.  But  no  one  is  forced, 
except  by  his  own  love  for  the  sensational,  to  choose  his  daily 
reading  out  of  this  majority.  Everybody  knows  that  there  is  a 
minority  of  earnest  and  admirable  papers  at  his  disposal.  Apart 
from  newspaper  politics  and  apart  from  the  admirable  industrial 
organization  of  the  newspaper  —  both  of  which  we  have  pre- 
viously spoken  of  —  the  newspapers  of  the  country  are  a  literary 
product  whose  high  merit  is  too  often  under-estimated.  The 
American  newspapers,  and  of  these  not  merely  the  largest,  are  an 
intellectual  product  of  well-maintained  uniformity  of  standard. 

To  be  sure,  the  style  is  often  light,  the  logic  unsound,  the  infor- 
mation superficial;  but,  taken  as  a  whole,  the  newspaper  has  unity 
and  character.  Thousands  of  loose-jointed  intellects  crowd  into 
journalism  every  year  —  more  than  in  any  other  country;  but 
American  journalism,  like  the  nation  as  a  whole,  has  an  amazing 
power  of  assimilation.  Just  as  thousands  of  Russians  and  Italians 
land  every  year  in  the  rags  of  their  wretchedness,  and  in  a  few  years 
become  earnest  American  citizens,  so  many  land  on  the  shores  of 
American  journalism  who  were  not  intended  to  be  the  teachers 
or  entertainers  of  humanity,  and  who  nevertheless  in  a  few  years 
are  quite  assimilated.  The  American  newspapers,  from  Boston 
to  San  Francisco,  are  alike  in  style  and  thought;  and  it  must  be 
said,  in  spite  of  all  prejudices,  that  the  American  newspaper  is 
certainly  literature.  The  American  knows  no  difference  between 
unpolitical  chatter  written  with  a  literary  ambition  and  unliterary 
comment  written  with  a  political  ambition.  In  one  sense  the 


462  THE  AMERICANS 

whole  newspaper  is  political,  while  at  the  same  time  it  is  nothing 
but  feuilleton,  from  the  editorials,  of  which  every  large  newspaper 
has  three  or  four  each  day,  to  the  small  paragraphs,  notes,  and 
announcements  with  which  the  editorial  page  generally  closes. 
From  the  Washington  letter  to  the  sporting  gossip,  everything 
tries  in  a  way  to  have  artistic  merit,  and  everything  bears  the 
stamp  of  American  literature.  Nothing  is  pedantic.  There  is 
often  a  great  lack  of  information  and  of  perspective  —  perhaps, 
even,  of  conscientiousness  in  the  examination  of  complaints  — 
but  everything  is  fresh,  optimistic,  clear  and  forcible,  and  always 
humorous  between  the  lines. 

In  the  weekly  papers,  America  achieves  still  more.  The  light, 
fresh,  and  direct  American  style  there  finds  its  most  congenial  field. 
The  same  is  true  of  the  monthly  papers  in  a  somewhat  more  am- 
bitious and  permanent  way.  The  leading  social  and  political 
monthlies,  like  the  venerable  North  American  Review,  which  errs 
merely  in  laying  too  much  emphasis  on  the  names  of  its  well- 
known  contributors,  and  others  are  quite  up  to  the  best  English 
reviews.  The  more  purely  literary  Atlantic  Monthly,  which  was 
founded  in  1857  by  a  small  circle  of  Boston  friends,  Lowell, 
Longfellow,  Emerson,  Holmes,  Whittier,  and  Motley,  and  which 
has  always  attracted  the  best  talent  of  the  country,  is  most  nearly 
comparable  to  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes.  Every  monthly 
paper  specially  cultivates  that  literary  form  for  which  America  has 
shown  the  most  pronounced  talent — the  essay.  The  magazine 
essay  entirely  takes  the  place  of  the  German  brochure,  a  form 
which  is  almost  unknown  in  America.  The  brochure,  depend- 
ing as  it  does  wholly  on  its  own  merits  to  attract  the  attention  of 
the  public,  must  be  in  some  way  sensational  to  make  up  for  its 
diminutive  size;  while  an  essay  which  is  brought  before  the  reader 
on  the  responsibility  of  a  magazine  needs  no  such  motive  power. 
It  is  one  among  many,  and  takes  its  due  place,  being  only  one  of 
the  items  of  interest  that  make  up  the  magazine. 

While  in  German  literary  circles  the  problems  of  the  day  are 
mostly  argued  in  brochures,  and  the  essay  is  a  miniature  book 
really  written  for  the  easy  instruction  of  a  public  which  would  not 
read  long  books,  the  American  essay  is  half-way  between.  It  is  liv- 
ing and  satirical  like  the  German  brochure,  but  conservative  and 
instructive  like  the  German  "  Abhandlung."  Only  when  a  num- 


LITERATURE  463 

her  of  essays  on  related  topics  come  from  the  same  pen  are  they 
put  together  and  published  as  a  separate  book.  We  have  already 
mentioned  that  America  is  oversupplied  with  such  volumes  of 
essays,  which  have  almost  all  the  same  history  —  they  were  first 
lectures,  then  magazine  articles,  and  now  they  are  revised  and 
published  in  book  form.  Their  value  is,  of  course,  very  diverse  ; 
but  in  general,  they  are  interesting  and  important,  often  epoch- 
making,  and  the  form  is  admirable.  A  distinguished  treatment, 
pointed  humour,  a  rich  and  clear  diction,  uncommonly  happy 
metaphors,  and  a  careful  polish  are  united  so  as  to  make  one  for- 
get the  undeniable  haste  with  which  the  material  is  gathered  and 
the  superficiality  of  the  conclusions  arrived  at.  So  it  happens 
that  the  essayists  who  appear  in  book  form  are  much  more  appre- 
ciated by  the  reading  public  than  their  German  colleagues,  and 
that  every  year  sees  several  hundred  such  volumes  put  on 
the  market.  The  motto,  "  fresh  and  mature,"  is  nowhere  more 
appropriate. 

But  the  American  remains  an  American,  even  in  the  apparently 
international  realm  of  science.  It  is  a  matter  of  course  for  an 
historian  to  write  in  the  personal  style.  Parkman,  Motley,  Pres- 
cott,  and  Fiske  are  very  different  types  of  historians  ;  and  never- 
theless, they  have  in  common  the  same  way  of  approaching  the 
subject  and  of  giving  to  it  form  and  life.  But  even  in  so  purely 
a  scientific  work  as  William  James's  two-volume  "  Principles  of 
Psychology,"  one  finds  such  forcible  and  convincing  turns  of 
thought,  so  personal  a  form  given  to  abstract  facts,  and  such 
freshness  together  with  such  ripe  mastery,  as  could  come  only 
from  an  American. 

Oratory  may  be  accounted  an  off-shoot  of  actual  literature.  A 
nation  of  politicians  must  reserve  an  honourable  place  for  the 
orator,  and  for  many  years  thousands  of  factors  in  public  life  have 
contributed  to  develop  oratory,  to  encourage  the  slightest  talent 
for  speaking,  and  to  reward  able  speakers  well.  Every  great 
movement  in  American  history  has  been  initiated  by  eloquent 
speakers.  Before  the  Revolution,  Adams  and  Otis,  Quincy  and 
Henry,  precipitated  the  Revolution  by  their  burning  words.  And 
no  one  can  discuss  the  great  movement  leading  up  to  the  Civil 
War  without  considering  the  oratory  of  Choate,  Clay,  Calhoun, 
Hayne,  Garrison,  and  Sumner ;  of  Wendell  Phillips,  the  great 


464  THE  AMERICANS 

popular  leader,  and  Edward  Everett,  the  great  academician,  and 

of  Daniel  Webster,  the  greatest  statesman  of  them  all. 

In  the  present  times  of  peace,  the  orator  is  less  important  than 
the  essayist,  and  most  of  the  party  speeches  to-day  have  not  even  a 
modest  place  in  literature.  But  if  one  follows  a  Presidential  cam- 
paign, listens  to  the  leading  lawyers  of  the  courts,  or  follows  the 
parliamentary  debates  of  university  students,  one  knows  that  the 
rhetorical  talent  of  the  American  has  not  died  since  those  days 
of  quickening,  and  would  spring  up  again  strong  and  vigorous 
if  any  great  subject,  greater  than  were  silver  coinage  or  the 
Philippine  policy,  should  excite  again  the  nation.  Keenness  of 
understanding,  admirable  sense  of  form  in  the  single  sentence  as 
in  the  structure  of  the  whole,  startling  comparisons,  telling 
ridicule,  careful  management  of  the  climax,  and  the  tone  of  convic- 
tion seem  to  be  everybody's  gift.  Here  and  there  the  phrase  is 
hollow  and  thought  is  sacrificed  to  sound,  but  the  general  ten- 
dency goes  toward  brevity  and  simplicity.  A  most  delightful 
variation  of  oratory  is  found  in  table  eloquence;  the  true  Ameri- 
can after-dinner  speech  is  a  finished  work  of  art.  Often,  of 
course,  there  are  ordinary  speeches  which  simply  go  from  one 
story  to  another,  quite  content  merely  to  relate  them  well.  In  the 
best  speeches  the  pointed  anecdote  is  not  lacking  either,  but  it 
merely  decorates  the  introduction;  the  speaker  then  approaches 
his  real  subject  half  playfully  and  half  in  earnest,  very  sympa- 
thetically, and  seeming  always  to  let  his  thoughts  choose  words 
for  themselves.  The  speeches  at  the  Capitol  are  sometimes  better 
than  those  in  the  Reichstag  ;  but  those  at  American  banquets  are 
not  only  better  than  the  speeches  at  Festessen  and  Kommersen, 
but  they  are  also  qualitatively  different  —  true  literary  works  of 
art,  for  which  the  American  is  especially  fitted  by  the  freshness, 
humour,  enthusiasm,  and  sense  of  symmetry  which  are  naturally 
his. 

Whoever  looks  about  among  journalists,  essayists,  historians, 
and  orators  will  return  more  than  once  to  the  subject  of  belles- 
lettres;  and  this  is  truer  in  America  than  elsewhere.  As  we  have 
already  seen,  pure  literature  is  strongly  biased  toward  the  practical; 
it  is  glad  to  serve  great  ideas,  whether  moral  or  social.  Poetry 
itself  is  sometimes  an  essay  or  sermon.  We  need  not  think  here 
of  romances  which  merely  sermonize,  and  are  therefore  artistically 


LITERATURE  4.65 

second-rate,  such  as  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  or  of  such  literary 
rubbish  as  Bellamy's  "  Utopia" ;  even  true  poets  like  Whittier  must, 
in  the  history  of  emancipation,  be  classed  with  the  political  writers. 
And  although  the  problem  novel  in  the  three-volume  English  form 
is  not  favoured  in  America  because  of  its  poor  literary  form,  the 
short  satirical  and  clean-cut  society  novel,  which  may  break  away 
at  any  moment  into  the  essay  or  journalistic  manner,  has  become 
all  the  more  popular.  Further,  this  being  the  time  of  America's 
industrial  struggle,  society  has  not  become  so  intellectually  aristo- 
cratic that  being  a  poet  is  a  life  profession.  The  leading  novelists 
have  had  to  be  active  in  almost  all  fields  of  literature;  they  have 
frequently  begun  as  journalists,  and  have  generally  been  essayists, 
editors,  or  professors  at  the  same  time. 

The  eighteenth  century  was  unfruitful  for  the  New  World,  in 
lyric  as  in  epic  literature.  The  literary  history  discovers  many 
names,  but  they  are  of  men  who  created  nothing  original,  and  who 
cannot  be  compared  with  the  great  English  geniuses.  America 
was  internally  as  well  as  externally  dependent  on  England;  and 
if  one  compares  the  utter  intellectual  unfruitfulness  of  Canada 
to-day  with  the  feverish  activity  of  her  southern  neighbour,  one  will 
inevitably  ask  whether  political  colonies  can  ever  create  literature. 
When  freedom  was  first  obtained  by  the  colonies,  a  condition  of 
new  equilibrium  was  reached  after  a  couple  of  decades  of  uncer- 
tainty and  unrest,  and  then  American  literature  woke  up.  Even 
then  it  was  not  free,  and  did  not  care  to  be  free,  from  English 
precedents;  and  yet  there  were  original  personalities  which  came 
to  the  front.  Washington  Irving  was,  as  Thackeray  said,  the  first 
ambassador  which  the  New  World  of  literature  sent  to  the  Old. 
English  influences  are  unmistakable  in  the  tales  of  Irving,  al- 
though he  was  a  strong  and  original  writer.  His  "Sketch-Book," 
published  in  1819,  has  remained  the  most  popular  of  his  books, 
and  the  poetic  muse  has  never  been  hunted  away  from  the  shores 
of  the  Hudson  where  Rip  Van  Winkle  passed  his  long  slumbers. 

The  American  novel  had  still  not  appeared.  The  romances  of 
Brown,  laid  in  Pennsylvania,  were  highly  inartistic  in  spite  of 
their  forcible  presentation.  Then  James  Fenimore  Cooper  dis- 
covered the  untouched  treasures  of  the  infinite  wilderness.  His 
"Spy"  appeared  in  1821,  and  he  was  at  once  hailed  as  the  Ameri- 
can Scott.  In  the  next  year  appeared  "The  Pioneers,"  the  first 


466  THE  AMERICANS 

of  his  Leather-stocking  Tales  of  wild  Indian  life.  And  after 
Cooper's  thirty-two  romances  there  followed  many  tales  by  lesser 
writers.  Miss  Sedgwick  was  the  first  woman  to  attain  literary 
popularity,  and  her  romances  were  the  first  which  depicted  the 
life  of  New  England.  At  the  same  time  a  New  England  youth 
began  to  write  verses  which,  by  their  serene  beauty,  were  incompar- 
ably above  all  earlier  lyric  attempts  of  his  native  land.  Bryant's 
first  volume  of  poems  appeared  in  1821,  and  therewith  America 
had  a  literature,  and  England's  sarcastic  question,  "Who  ever 
reads  an  American  book  ?  "  was  not  asked  again. 

The  movement  quickly  grew  to  its  first  culmination.  A  bril- 
liant period  commenced  in  the  thirties,  when  Hawthorne,  Holmes, 
Emerson,  Longfellow,  Thoreau,  Curtis,  and  Margaret  Fuller,  all 
of  New  England,  became  the  luminaries  of  the  literary  New 
World.  And  like  the  prelude  to  a  great  epoch  rings  the  song  of 
the  one  incomparable  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  who  did  not  fight  for 
ideas  like  a  moral  New  Englander,  but  sang  simply  in  the  love 
of  song.  Poe's  melancholy,  demoniacal,  and  melodious  poetry 
was  a  marvellous  fountain  in  the  country  of  hard  and  sober  work. 
And  Poe  was  the  first  whose  fantasy  transformed  the  short  story 
into  a  thing  of  the  highest  poetical  form.  In  New  England  no 
one  was  so  profoundly  a  poet  as  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  the  author 
of  "The  Scarlet  Letter."  His  "Marble  Faun,"  of  which  the  scene 
is  laid  in  Italy,  may  show  him  in  his  fullest  maturity,  but  his  great- 
est strength  lay  in  the  romances  of  Massachusetts,  which  in  their 
emotional  impressiveness  and  artistic  finish  are  as  beautiful  as 
an  autumn  day  in  New  England.  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  the 
rhapsodical  philosopher,  wrote  poems  teeming  over  with  thought, 
and  yet  true  poems,  while  Whittier  was  the  inspired  bard  of  free- 
dom; and  besides  these  there  was  the  trio  of  friends,  Longfellow, 
Lowell,  and  Holmes.  Harvard  professors  they  were,  and  men 
of  distinguished  ability,  whose  literary  culture  made  them  the 
proper  educators  of  the  nation.  Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson 
is  the  only  one  of  this  circle  now  living,  remaining  over,  as  it  were, 
from  that  golden  age.  He  fought  at  first  to  free  the  slaves,  and 
then  he  became  the  stout  defender  of  the  emancipation  of  women, 
and  is  to-day,  as  then,  the  master  of  the  reflective  essay.  His  life 
is  full  of  "cheerful  yesterdays  ";  his  fame  is  sure  of  "confident  to- 
morrows." 


LITERATURE  467 

Longfellow  is,  to  the  German,  mainly  the  sensitive  transposer  of 
German  poetry;  his  sketch-book,  "Hyperion,"  opened  up  the 
German  world  of  myth,  and  brought  the  German  romance  across 
the  ocean.  His  ballads  and  his  delightful  idyll  of  "Evangeline  " 
clothed  New  England  life,  as  it  were,  in  German  sentiment;  and 
even  his  Indian  edda,  "Hiawatha,"  sounds  as  if  from  a  German 
troubadour  wandering  through  the  Indian  country.  Longfellow 
became  the  favourite  poet  of  the  American  home,  and  American 
youth  still  makes  its  pilgrimage  to  the  house  in  Cambridge  where 
he  once  lived.  Lowell  was  perhaps  more  gifted  than  Longfellow, 
and  certainly  he  was  the  more  many-sided.  His  art  ranged  from 
the  profoundest  pathos  by  which  American  patriotism  was  aroused 
in  those  days  of  danger,  to  the  broadest  and  most  whimsical  humour 
freely  expressed  in  dialect  verses;  and  he  also  wrote  the  most 
finished  idyllic  poetry  and  keenly  satirical  and  critical  essays.  It 
is  common  to  exalt  his  humorous  verses,  "The  Biglow  Papers," 
to  the  highest  place  of  typical  literary  productions  of  America; 
nevertheless,  his  essential  quality  was  fine  and  academic.  Real 
American  humour  undoubtedly  finds  its  truer  expression  in 
Holmes.  Holmes  was  also  a  lyric  poet,  but  his  greatest  work 
was  the  set  of  books  by  the  "Autocrat."  His  "Autocrat  of 
the  Breakfast  Table"  has  that  serious  smile  which  makes  world 
literature.  It  was  the  first  of  a  long  series,  and  at  the  writing  he 
was  a  professor  of  anatomy,  sixty-four  years  old. 

Then  there  were  many  lesser  lights  around  these  great  ones. 
At  the  middle  of  the  century  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  wrote  her 
"Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  of  which  ten  thousand  copies  were  sold 
every  day  for  many  months.  And  romance  literature  in  general 
began  to  increase.  At  the  same  time  appeared  the  beautiful 
songs  of  Bayard  Taylor,  whose  later  translation  of  Faust  has  never 
been  surpassed,  and  the  scarcely  less  admirable  lyrics  of  Stedman 
and  Stoddard.  So  it  happened  that  at  the  time  when  the  Civil 
War  broke  out,  America,  although  deficient  in  every  sort  of  pro- 
ductive science  except  history,  had  a  brilliant  literature.  Science 
needed,  first  of  all,  solid  academic  institutions,  which  could  only 
be  built  patiently,  stone  on  stone — a  work  which  has  been  wit- 
nessed by  the  last  three  decades  of  the  century.  Poetry,  however, 
needed  only  the  inner  voice  which  speaks  to  the  susceptible  heart, 
and  the  encouragement  of  the  people.  For  science  there  has 


468  THE  AMERICANS 

been  a  steady,  quiet  growth,  parallel  with  the  growth  of  the  insti- 
tutions; for  letters  there  have  been  changing  fortunes,  times  of 
prosperity  and  times  of  stagnation.  When  the  powder  and  smoke 
of  the  Civil  War  had  blown  away  the  happy  days  of  literature 
were  over;  it  began  to  languish,  and  only  at  the  present  day  is  it 
commencing  to  thrive  once  more. 

This  does  not  mean  that  there  has  been  no  talent  for  three 
decades,  or  that  the  general  interest  in  literature  has  flagged. 
Ambitious  writers  of  romance  like  Howells,  James,  Crawford,  and 
Cable;  novelists  like  Aldrich,  Bret  Harte,  and  Hale,  Mary  Wilkins, 
and  Sarah  Orne  Jewett;  poets  like  Lanier  and  Whitman,  and 
humourists  like  Stockton  and  Mark  Twain,  have  done  much  excel- 
lent work,  and  work  that  is  partly  great,  and  have  shown  the 
way  to  large  provinces  of  literary  endeavour.  Nevertheless,  com- 
pared with  the  great  achievements  which  had  gone  before,  theirs 
is  rather  a  time  of  intermission.  And  yet  many  persons  are  quite 
prepared  to  say  that  Howells  is  the  greatest  of  all  American 
authors,  and  his  realistic  analyses  among  the  very  best  modern 
romances.  And  Howells  himself  pays  the  same  tribute  to  Mark 
Twain's  later  and  maturer  writings. 

But  there  is  one  poet  about  whom  only  the  future  can  really 
decide;  this  is  Walt  Whitman.  His  "Leaves  of  Grass,"  with 
their  apparently  formless  verse,  were  greatly  praised  by  some;  by 
others  felt  to  be  barbarous  and  tasteless.  There  has  been  a  dis- 
pute similar  to  that  over  Zarathustra  of  Nietzsche.  And  even  as 
regards  content,  Whitman  may  be  compared  with  Nietzsche,  the 
radical  democrat  with  the  extreme  aristocrat,  for  the  exaggerated 
democratic  exaltation  of  the  ego  leads  finally  to  a  point  in 
which  every  single  man  is  an  absolute  dictator  in  his  own  world, 
and  therefore  comes  to  feel  himself  unique,  and  proudly  demands 
the  right  of  the  Uebermensch.  "When  they  fight,  I  keep  silent, 
go  bathing,  or  sit  marvelling  at  myself,"  says  this  prophet  of  de- 
mocracy. "In  order  to  learn,  I  sat  at  the  feet  of  great  masters.  Oh, 
that  these  great  masters  might  return  once  more  to  learn  of  me." 
The  similarity  between  American  and  German  intellects  could 
readily  be  traced  further,  and  was,  perhaps,  not  wholly  unfitted  to 
reveal  a  certain  broad  literary  perspective.  As  we  have  compared 
Whitman  and  Nietzsche,  so  we  might  compare  Bryant  with  Platen, 
Poe  with  Heine,  Hawthorne  with  Freytag,  Lowell  with  Uhland, 


LITERATURE  469 

Whittier  with  Riickert,  Holmes  with  Keller,  Howells  with  Fon- 
tane,  Crawford  with  Heyse,  and  so  on,  and  we  should  compare 
thus  contemporaries  of  rather  equal  rank.  But  such  a  parallel- 
ism, of  course,  could  not  be  drawn  too  far,  since  it  would  be  easy 
to  show  in  any  such  pair  important  traits  to  belie  the  comparison. 

In  the  positively  bewildering  literature  of  to-day,  the  novel 
and  the  short  story  strongly  predominate.  The  Americans  have 
always  shown  a  special  aptitude  and  fondness  for  the  short  story. 
Poe  was  the  true  master  of  that  form,  and  the  grace  with  which 
Aldrich  has  told  the  story  of  Marjorie  Daw,  and  Davis  of  Van 
Bibber,  the  energy  with  which  Hale  has  cogently  depicted  the 
Man  Without  a  Country,  or  Bret  Harte  the  American  pioneer, 
and  the  intimacy  with  which  Miss  Wilkins  and  Miss  Jewett  have 
perpetuated  the  quieter  aspects  of  human  existence,  show  a  true 
instinct  for  art.  A  profound  appreciation,  fresh  vigour,  and  fine 
feeling  for  form,  graceful  humour  and  all  the  good  qualities  of 
American  literature,  combine  to  make  the  short  story  a  perfect 
thing.  It  is  not  the  German  Novelle,  but  is,  rather,  comparable 
to  the  French  conte.  The  short  stories  are  not  all  of  the  single 
type;  some  are  masculine  and  others  feminine  in  manner.  The 
finely  cut  story,  which  is  short  because  the  charm  of  the  incidents 
would  vanish  if  narrated  in  greater  detail,  is  of  the  feminine  type. 
And,  of  the  masculine,  is  the  story  told  in  cold,  sharp  relief,  which 
is  short  because  it  is  energetic  and  impatient  of  any  protracted 
waits.  In  both  cases,  everything  unessential  is  left  out.  Perhaps 
the  American  is  nowhere  more  himself  than  here;  and  short  stories 
are  produced  in  great  numbers  and  are  specially  fostered  by  the 
monthly  magazines. 

Of  humourists  there  are  fewer  to-day  than  formerly.  Neither 
the  refined  humour  of  Irving,  Lowell,  and  Holmes,  nor  the  broader 
humour  of  Bret  Harte  and  Mark  Twain,  finds  many  representa- 
tives of  real  literary  importance.  There  are  several,  it  is  true, 
who  are  delighted  with  Dooley's  contemporary  comment  in  the 
Irish  dialect,  but  there  is  a  much  truer  wit  in  the  delicately  satir- 
ical society  novels  of  Henry  James,  and  to  a  less  degree  in  those 
of  Grant,  Herrick,  Bates,  and  a  hundred  others,  or  in  the  romances 
of  common  life,  such  as  Westcott's  "  David  Harum." 

The  historical  romance  has  flourished  greatly.  At  first  the 
fantasy  went  to  far  regions,  and  the  traditional  old  figures  of 


470  THE  AMERICANS 

romance  were  tricked  out  in  the  gayest  foreign  costumes.  The 
most  popular  of  all  has  been  Wallace's  "  Ben  Hur."  The  Ameri- 
cans have  long  since  followed  the  road  which  German  writers 
have  taken  from  Ebers  to  Dahn  and  Wildenbruch,  and  have  re- 
vived their  own  national  past.  To  be  sure,  the  tremendous  edi- 
tions of  these  books  are  due  rather  to  the  desire  for  information 
than  the  love  of  poetry.  The  public  likes  to  learn  its  national 
history  while  being  entertained,  since  the  national  consciousness 
has  developed  so  noticeably  in  the  last  decade  and  the  social  life 
of  America  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  has  doubt- 
less become  thus  living  and  real  for  millions  of  Americans.  Aes- 
thetic motives  predominate,  nevertheless,  and  although  books  like 
Churchill's  "The  Crisis,"  Bacheller's  "D'ri  and  I,"  Miss  John- 
ston's "Audrey,"  Ford's  "Janice  Meredith,"  and  others  similar 
are  merely  books  of  the  day,  and  will  be  replaced  by  others  on  the 
next  Christmas-trees,  nevertheless  they  are  works  of  considerable 
artistic  merit.  They  are  forcibly  constructed,  dramatic,  full  of 
invention  and  delightful  diction.  It  is  undeniable  that  the  general 
level  of  the  American  romance  is  to-day  not  inferior  to  that  of 
Germany. 

Historical  romance  aims,  first  of  all,  to  awaken  the  national 
consciousness.  So,  for  instance,  the  romances  of  the  versatile 
physician,  Weir  Mitchell,  are  first  of  all  histories  of  the  Revo- 
lutionary period  of  the  whole  nation,  and,  secondarily,  histories  of 
early  Pennsylvania.  But  the  story  which  depends  on  local  coloui 
flourishes  too.  Here  shows  itself  strongly  that  trait  which  is  distin- 
guishable in  American  writing  through  the  whole  century,  from 
Irving,  Cooper,  and  Bryant  to  the  present  day  —  the  love  of  nature. 
Almost  every  part  of  the  country  has  found  some  writer  to  cele- 
brate its  landscape  and  customs,  not  merely  the  curious  inhabit- 
ants of  the  prairie  and  gold-fields,  but  the  outwardly  unromantic 
characters  of  the  New  England  village  and  the  Tennessee  moun- 
tains, of  the  Southern  plantations  and  the  Western  States.  And 
new  stories  of  this  sort  appear  every  day.  Especially  the  new 
West  figures  prominently  in  literature;  and  the  tireless  ambition 
on  which  the  city  of  Chicago  is  founded  is  often  depicted  with 
much  talent.  The  novels  of  Fuller,  Norris,  and  others  are  all 
extraordinarily  forceful  descriptions  of  Western  life  and  civiliza- 
tion. The  South  of  to-day,  which  shows  symptoms  of  awaking 


LITERATURE 

to  new  life,  is  described  more  from  the  Northern  than  from  the 
Southern  point  of  view.  It  is  surprising  that  the  mental  life  of  the 
American  negro  has  attracted  so  little  attention,  since  the  short 
stories  of  Chestnut  point  to  unexplored  treasures. 

The  longer  efforts  are  always  in  prose,  and  since  the  time  of 
Evangeline  epic  verse  has  found  almost  no  representative. 
Verse  is  almost  wholly  lyrical.  The  history  of  American  lyric  is 
contained  in  the  large  and  admirable  collections  of  Stedman, 
Onderdonk,  and  others;  and  it  is  the  history  of,  perhaps,  the  most 
complete  achievement  of  American  literature.  One  who  knows  the 
American  only  in  the  usual  caricature,  and  does  not  know  what 
an  idealist  the  Yankee  is,  would  be  surprised  to  learn  that  the 
lyric  poem  has  become  his  favourite  field.  The  romantic  novel, 
which  appeals  to  the  masses,  may  have,  perhaps,  a  commercial 
motive,  while  the  book  of  verse  is  an  entirely  disinterested  produc- 
tion. The  lyric,  in  its  fresh,  intense,  and  finished  way,  reveals  the 
inner  being  of  American  literature,  and  surprisingly  much  lyric 
verse  is  being  written  to-day.  Even  political  newspapers,  like 
the  Boston  Transcript,  publish  every  day  some  lyric  poem;  and 
although  here  as  everywhere  many  volumes  of  indifferent  verse 
see  the  light  of  day,  still  the  feeling  for  form  is  so  general  that  one 
finds  very  seldom  anything  wholly  bad  and  very  often  bits  of 
deep  significance  and  beauty.  Here,  too,  the  best-known  things 
are  not  the  most  admirable.  We  hear  too  much  of  Markham's 
"The  Man  With  the  Hoe,"  and  too  little  of  Santayana's  sonnets 
or  of  Josephine  Preston  Peabody.  Here,  too,  local  colour  is  happily 
in  evidence  —  as,  for  instance,  in  the  well-known  verses  of  Riley. 
The  Western  poet  goes  a  different  road  from  the  Eastern.  The 
South  has  never  again  sent  a  messenger  so  full  of  melodies  as 
Sidney  Lanier. 

There  is  a  strong  lyric  tendency  also  in  the  dramatic  compo- 
sitions of  the  day.  The  true  drama  has  always  been  more  neg- 
lected than  any  other  branch  of  art,  and  if  it  is  true  that  the 
Americans  have  preserved  the  temperament  and  point  of  view  of 
Elizabethan  England,  it  is  high  time  for  some  American  Shake- 
speare to  step  forth.  Until  now,  extremely  few  plays  of  real  liter- 
ary worth  have  been  written  between  the  Atlantic  and  the  Pacific 
Oceans.  Dramatists  there  have  been  always,  and  the  stage  is  now 
more  than  ever  supplied  by  native  talent;  but  literature  is  too  little 


4.72  THE  AMERICANS 

considered  here.  The  rural  dramas  having  the  local  colour  of 
Virginia  and  New  England  are  generally  better  than  the  society 
pieces :  and  the  very  popular  dramatizations  of  novels  are  stirring, 
but  utterly  cheap.  On  the  other  hand,  the  American  has  often 
applied  the  lyric  gift  in  dramatic  verse,  and  in  dramas  of  philo- 
sophic significance  such  as  Santayana's  admirable  "Lucifer" 
or  Moody's  "Masque  of  Judgment."  The  stunted  growth  of 
American  dramatic  writing  is  closely  connected  with  the  history 
of  the  American  stage,  a  subject  which  may  lead  us  from  litera- 
ture to  the  sister  arts. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 
Art 

THE  history  of  the  theatre  leads  us  once  more  back  to 
Puritan  New  England.  Every  one  knows  that  the  Pu- 
ritan regarded  the  theatre  as  the  very  temple  of  vice,  and 
the  former  association  of  the  theatre  and  the  bar-room  —  a 
tradition  that  came  from  England  —  naturally  failed  to  make 
public  opinion  more  favourable.  In  the  year  1750  theatrical  pro- 
ductions were  entirely  forbidden  in  Boston.  One  theatre  was 
built  in  1794,  and  a  few  others  later,  but  the  public  feeling  against 
demoralizing  influences  of  the  stage  so  grew  that  one  theatre  after 
another  was  turned  from  its  profane  uses  and  made  over  into  a 
lecture  hall  or  something  of  the  sort.  In  1839  it  was  publicly 
declared  that  Boston  should  never  again  have  a  theatre.  Never- 
theless by  1870,  it  had  five  theatres,  and  to-day  it  has  fifteen. 
Other  cities  have  always  been  more  liberal  toward  the  theatre, 
and  in  the  city  of  New  York,  since  1733,  ninety-five  theatres  have 
been  built,  of  which  more  than  thirty  are  still  standing  to-day 
and  in  active  operation.  Thus  the  Puritan  spirit  seems  long 
since  to  have  disappeared,  and  the  backwardness  of  the  drama 
seems  not  to  be  connected  with  the  religious  past  of  the  country. 
But  this  is  not  the  case. 

Let  us  survey  the  situation.  There  is  certainly  no  lack  of 
theatres,  for  almost  every  town  has  its  "opera  house,"  and  the 
large  cities  have  really  too  many.  Nor  is  there  any  lack  of  his- 
trionic talent;  for,  although  the  great  Shakespearian  actor,  Edwin 
Booth,  has  no  worthy  successor,  we  have  still  actors  who  are 
greatly  applauded  and  loved — Mansfield,  Sothern,  Jefferson,  Drew, 
and  Gillette;  Maude  Adams,  Mrs.  Fiske,  Blanche  Bates,  Hen- 
rietta Crosman,  Julia  Arthur,  Julia  Marlowe,  Ada  Rehan,  Nance 
O'Neill,  and  many  others  who  are  certainly  sincere  artists;  and  the 


474-  THE  AMERICANS 

most  brilliant  actors  of  Europe,  Irving  and  Tree,  Duse,  Bern- 
hardt,  Sorma,  and  Campbell  come  almost  every  year  to  play  in 
this  country.  The  American's  natural  versatility  gives  him  a 
great  advantage  for  the  theatrical  career;  and  so  it  is  no  accident 
that  amateur  theatricals  are  nowhere  else  so  popular,  especially 
among  student  men  and  women.  The  equipments  of  the  stage, 
moreover,  leave  very  little  to  be  desired,  and  the  settings  some- 
times surpass  anything  which  can  be  seen  in  Europe;  one  often 
sees  marvellous  effects  and  most  convincing  illusions.  And  these, 
with  the  American  good  humour,  verve,  and  self-assurance,  and 
the  beauty  of  American  women,  bring  many  a  graceful  comedy 
and  light  opera  to  a  really  artistic  performance.  The  great  public, 
too,  is  quite  content,  and  fills  the  theatres  to  overflowing.  It  seems 
almost  unjust  to  criticise  unfavourably  the  country's  theatres. 

But  the  general  public  is  not  the  only  nor  even  the  most  im- 
portant factor;  the  discriminating  public  is  not  satisfied.  Artis- 
tic productions  of  the  more  serious  sort  are  drowned  out  by  a 
great  tide  of  worthless  entertainments;  and  however  amusing  or 
diverting  the  comedies,  farces,  rural  pieces,  operettas,  melodra- 
mas, and  dramatized  novels  may  be,  they  are  thoroughly  un- 
worthy of  a  people  that  is  so  ceaselessly  striving  for  cultivation 
and  self-perfection.  Such  pieces  should  not  have  the  assur- 
ance to  invade  the  territory  of  true  art.  And,  although  the  lack 
of  good  plays  is  less  noticeable,  if  one  looks  at  the  announcements 
of  what  is  to  be  given  in  New  York  on  any  single  evening,  it  is 
tremendously  borne  home  on  one  by  the  bad  practice  of  repeat- 
ing the  plays  night  after  night  for  many  weeks,  so  that  a  person 
who  wants  to  see  real  art  has  soon  seen  every  production  which  is 
worth  while.  In  this  respect  New  York  is  distinctly  behind  Paris, 
Berlin,  or  Vienna,  although  about  on  a  level  with  London;  and  in 
the  other  large  cities  of  America  the  situation  is  rather  worse. 
Everywhere  the  stage  caters  to  the  vulgar  taste,  and  for  one  Ham- 
let there  are  ten  Geishas. 

It  cannot  be  otherwise,  since  the  theatre  is  entirely  a  business 
matter  with  the  managers.  Sometimes  there  is  an  artist  like  the 
late  Daly,  who  is  ready  to  conduct  a  theatre  from  the  truly  artistic 
point  of  view,  and  who  offers  admirable  performances;  but  this 
is  an  expensive  luxury,  and  there  are  few  who  will  afford  it.  It  is 
a  question  of  making  money,  and  therefore  of  offering  humor- 


ART  47S 

ous  or  sentimental  pieces  which  fill  the  theatre.  There  is  another 
fact  of  which  the  European  hardly  knows;  it  is  cheaper  to  engage  a 
company  to  play  a  single  piece  for  a  whole  year  with  mechanical 
regularity  than  to  hire  actors  to  give  the  study  necessary  to  a 
diversified  repertoire.  After  many  repetitions,  even  mediocre  actors 
can  attain  a  certain  skill,  while  in  repertoire  only  good  actors 
are  found  at  all  satisfactory,  and  the  average  will  not  be  tolerated 
by  the  pampered  public.  Then,  too,  the  accessories  are  much 
cheaper  for  a  single  piece. 

Now,  in  a  town  of  moderate  size,  one  piece  cannot  be  repeated 
many  nights,  so  that  the  companies  have  to  travel  about.  The 
best  companies  stay  not  less  than  a  week,  and  if  the  town  is  large 
enough,  they  stay  from  four  to  six  weeks.  These  companies  are 
known  by  the  name  of  the  piece  which  they  are  presenting,  or 
by  the  name  of  the  leading  actor,  the  "star."  The  theatre  in 
itself  is  a  mere  tenantless  shell.  In  early  fall  the  whole  list  of 
companies  which  are  to  people  its  stage  through  the  next  thirty 
xveeks  is  arranged.  In  this  way,  it  is  true  that  the  small  city  is 
able  to  see  the  best  actors  and  the  newest  pieces.  Yet  one  sees 
how  sterile  this  principle  is  by  considering  some  of  the  extreme 
cases.  Jefferson  has  played  his  Rip  Van  Winkle  and  almost 
nothing  else  for  thirty  years;  and  the  young  people  of  Chicago, 
Philadelphia,  and  Boston  would  be  very  unhappy  if  he  were  not 
to  come  in  this  role  for  a  couple  of  weeks  every  winter.  And  he 
has  thus  become  several  times  a  millionaire. 

But  the  business  spirit  has  not  stopped  with  this.  The  hundreds 
of  companies  compete  with  one  another,  so  that  very  naturally 
a  theatrical  trust  has  been  formed.  The  syndicate  of  Klaw, 
Erlanger  &  Frohman  was  organized  in  1896  with  thirty-seven 
leading  theatres  in  large  cities,  all  pledged  to  present  none  but 
companies  belonging  to  the  syndicate,  while,  in  return,  the  syndi- 
cate agreed  to  keep  the  theatres  busy  every  week  in  the  season. 
The  favourite  actors  and  the  favourite  companies  were  secured, 
and  the  independent  actors  who  resisted  the  tyranny  found  that  in 
most  of  the  large  cities  only  second-rate  theatres  were  open  to 
them.  One  after  another  had  to  give  in,  and  now  the  great  trust 
under  the  command  of  Frohman  has  virtually  the  whole  the- 
atrical business  of  the  country  in  its  hands.  The  trust  operates 
shrewdly  and  squarely;  it  knows  its  public,  offers  variety,  follows 


476  THE  AMERICANS 

the  fashions,  gives  the  great  mimes  their  favourite  r61es,  pays  them 
and  the  theatre  owners  well,  relieves  the  actors  from  the  struggle 
for  promotion,  and  vastly  amuses  the  public.  It  is  impossible  to 
resist  this  situation,  which  is  so  adverse  to  art. 

All  are  agreed  that  there  is  only  one  way  to  better  matters. 
Permanent  companies  must  be  organized,  in  the  large  cities  at 
first,  to  play  in  repertoire.  And  these  must  be  subsidized,  so  as 
not  to  be  dependent  for  their  support  on  the  taste  of  the  general 
public.  Then  and  then  only  will  the  dramatic  art  be  able  to 
thrive,  or  the  theatre  become  an  educational  institution,  and  so 
slowly  cultivate  a  better  demand,  which  in  the  end  will  come  to 
make  even  the  most  eclectic  theatre  self-supporting.  So  it  has 
always  been  on  the  European  Continent;  princes  and  municipali- 
ties have  rivalled  with  one  another  to  raise  the  level  of  dramatic 
art  above  what  it  would  have  to  be  if  financially  dependent 
solely  on  the  box-office.  In  the  United  States  there  is  certainly 
no  lack  of  means  or  good  will  to  encourage  such  an  educational 
institution.  Untold  millions  go  to  libraries,  museums,  and  uni- 
versities, and  we  may  well  ask  why  the  slightest  attempt  has  not 
been  made  to  provide,  by  gift  or  from  the  public  treasury,  for  a 
temple  to  the  drama. 

It  is  just  here  that  the  old  Puritan  prejudice  is  still  felt  to-day. 
The  theatre  is  no  longer  under  the  ban  of  the  law,  but  no  step  can 
be  taken  toward  a  subvention  of  the  theatre.  Most  taxpayers 
in  America  would  look  with  disfavour  on  any  project  to  support  a 
theatre  from  public  funds.  Why  a  theatre  more  than  a  hotel  or 
restaurant  ?  The  theatre  remains  a  place  of  frivolous  amusement, 
and  for  that  reason  no  millionaires  have  so  far  endowed  a 
theatre.  Men  like  Carnegie  know  too  well  that  the  general 
mass  of  people  would  blame  them  if  they  were  to  give  their 
millions  to  the  theatre,  as  long  as  a  single  town  was  still  wishing 
for  its  library  or  its  college. 

The  history  of  music  in  America  has  shown  what  can  be  at- 
tained by  endowment  —  how  the  public  demand  can  be  educated 
so  that  even  the  very  best  art  will  finally  be  self-supporting.  The 
development  of  the  Boston  Symphony  Orchestra,  which  is  still 
the  best  musical  organization  in  the  country,  is  thoroughly 
typical.  It  was  realized  that  symphony  concerts,  like  the  best 
given  in  Germany,  would  not  be  self-supporting,  in  view  of  the 


ART  477 

deficient  musical  education  of  the  country.  In  1880  Boston  had 
two  symphony  orchestras,  but  both  were  of  little  account.  They 
were  composed  of  over-busied  musicians,  who  could  not  spare  the 
time  needed  for  study  and  rehearsals.  Then  one  of  the  most 
liberal  and  appreciative  men  of  the  country,  Henry  Lee  Higgin- 
son,  came  forward  and  engaged  the  best  musicians  whom  he  could 
find,  to  give  all  their  time  and  energy  to  an  orchestra;  and  he 
himself  guaranteed  the  expenses.  During  the  first  few  years 
he  paid  out  a  fortune  annually,  but  year  by  year  the  sum  grew 
less,  and  to-day  Boston  so  thoroughly  enjoys  its  twenty-four 
symphony  concerts,  which  are  not  surpassed  by  those  of  any 
European  orchestra,  that  the  large  music-hall  is  too  small  to  hold 
those  who  wish  to  attend.  This  example  has  been  imitated,  and 
now  New  York,  Chicago,  Philadelphia,  and  other  cities  have 
excellent  and  permanent  orchestras. 

Likewise  various  cities,  but  especially  New  York,  enjoy  a  few 
weeks  of  German,  French,  and  Italian  opera  which  is  equal  to  the 
best  opera  in  Europe,  by  a  company  that  brings  together  the 
best  singers  of  Europe  and  America.  In  the  case  of  opera  the  love 
of  music  has  prevailed  over  the  prejudice  against  the  theatre. 
Extraordinarily  high  subscriptions  for  the  boxes,  and  a  reduced 
rental  of  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House,  which  was  erected  by 
patrons  of  art,  have  given  brilliant  support  to  the  undertaking. 
Without  going  into  questions  of  principle,  an  impartial  friend 
of  music  must  admit  that  even  the  performances  of  Parsifal  were 
artistically  not  inferior  to  those  of  Bayreuth,  and  the  audience 
was  quite  as  much  in  sympathy  with  the  great  masterpiece  as  are 
the  assemblages  of  tourists  at  Bayreuth.  The  artistic  education 
proceeding  from  these  larger  centres  is  felt  through  the  entire 
country,  and  there  is  a  growing  desire  for  less  ambitious  but  per- 
manent opera  companies. 

The  symphony  and  the  opera  are  not  the  only  evidences  of  the 
serious  love  of  music  in  America.  Every  large  city  has  its  con- 
servatory and  its  surplus  of  trained  music  teachers,  and  almost 
every  city  has  societies  which  give  oratorios,  and  innumerable 
singing  clubs,  chamber  concerts,  and  regular  musical  festivals. 
Even  the  concerts  by  other  soloists  than  that  fashionable  favourite 
of  American  ladies,  Paderewski,  are  well  attended.  And  these 
are  not  new  movements;  opera  was  given  in  New  York  as  early 


478  THE  AMERICANS 

as  1750,  and  the  English  opera  of  the  eighteenth  century  was 
followed  in  1825  ky  Italian  opera.  Also  Baltimore,  Philadelphia, 
and  New  Orleans  early  developed  a  love  for  music. 

Boston  has  been  the  great  centre  for  oratorio.  The  Handel 
and  Haydn  Society  dates  from  1810,  and  in  1820  a  great  many 
concerts  were  given  all  through  the  East,  even  in  small  towns.  And 
the  influence  of  the  musical  Germans  was  strongly  felt  by  the 
middle  of  the  century.  The  Germania  Orchestra  of  Boston  was 
founded  in  1848,  and  now  all  the  Western  cities  where  German 
influences  are  strong,  such  as  Milwaukee,  Cincinnati,  Chicago, 
and  St.  Louis,  are  centres  of  music,  with  many  male  choruses 
and  much  private  cultivation  of  music  in  the  home. 

The  churches,  moreover,  are  a  considerable  support  to  music. 
The  Puritan  spirit  disliked  secular  music  no  less  than  the  theatre; 
but  the  popular  hymns  were  always  associated  with  the  service 
of  God,  and  so  the  love  for  music  grew  and  its  cultivation  spread. 
Progress  was  made  from  the  simplest  melodies  to  fugue  arrange- 
ments; organs  and  stringed  instruments  were  introduced;  the 
youth  was  educated  in  music,  and  finally  in  the  last  century 
church  worship  was  made  more  attractive  by  having  the  best 
music  obtainable.  And  thus,  through  the  whole  country,  chorus 
and  solo  singing  and  instrumental  skill  have  been  everywhere 
favoured  by  the  popular  religious  instinct. 

So  much  for  the  performance  of  music.  Musical  composition 
has  not  reached  nearly  such  a  high  point.  It  is  sufficient  to  look 
over  the  programmes  of  recent  years.  Wagner  leads  among 
operatic  composers,  then  follow  Verdi,  Gounod,  and  Mozart; 
Beethoven  is  the  sovereign  of  the  concert-hall,  and  The  Messiah 
and  The  Creation  are  the  most  popular  oratorios.  Sometimes  a 
suspicion  has  been  expressed  that  American  composers  must  have 
been  systematically  suppressed  by  the  leading  German  conductors 
like  Damrosch,  Seidl,  Gericke,  Thomas,  and  Paur.  But  this 
is  not  remotely  true.  The  American  public  is  much  more  to  be 
blamed;  for,  altnough  so  patriotic  in  every  other  matter,  it  looks 
on  every  native  musical  composition  with  distrust,  and  will  hardly 
accept  even  the  American  singer  or  player  until  he  has  first  won 
his  laurels  in  Europe. 

Still,  there  has  been  some  composition  in  America.  There  were 
religious  composers  in  the  eighteenth  century,  and  when  every- 


ART  479 

thing  English  was  put  away  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution,  the 
colonists  replaced  the  psalm-tunes  which  they  had  brought  over 
with  original  airs.  Billings  and  his  school  were  especially  popular, 
although  there  was  an  early  reaction  against  what  he  was  pleased 
to  call  fugues.  The  nineteenth  century  brought  forth  little  more 
than  band-master  music,  with  no  sign  of  inspiration  in  real 
orchestral  or  operatic  music.  Only  lately  there  have  stepped 
into  the  field  such  eminent  composers  as  MacDowell,  Paine, 
Chadwick,  Strong,  Beech,  Buck,  Parker,  and  Foot.  Paine's 
opera  of  "Azara,"  Chadwick's  overtures,  and  MacDowell's  inter- 
esting compositions  show  how  American  music  will  develop. 

More  popular  was  a  modest  branch  of  musical  composition, 
the  song  in  the  style  of  folk-songs.  America  has  no  actual  folk- 
songs. The  average  European  imagines  "Yankee  Doodle"  to 
be  the  real  American  song,  anonymous  and  dreadful  as  it  is, 
and  in  diplomatic  circles  the  antiquated  and  bombastic  "Hail 
Columbia"  is  conceived  to  be  the  official  hymn  of  America. 
The  Americans  themselves  recognize  neither  of  these  airs.  The 
"Star  Spangled  Banner"  is  the  only  song  which  can  be  called 
national;  it  was  written  in  181410  an  old  and  probably  English 
melody.  The  Civil  War  left  certain  other  songs  which  stir  the 
breast  of  every  patriotic  American. 

On  the  other  hand,  folk-songs  have  developed  in  only  one  part  of 
the  country  —  on  the  Southern  plantations  —  and  with  a  very  local 
colouring.  The  negro  slaves  sang  these  songs  first,  although  it  is 
unlikely  that  they  are  really  African  songs.  They  seem  to  be  Irish 
and  Scotch  ballads,  which  the  negroes  heard  on  the  Mississippi 
steamboats.  Baptist  and  Methodist  psalm-tunes  and  French 
melodies  were  also  caught  up  by  the  musical  negroes  and  modi- 
fied to  their  peculiar  melody  and  rhythm.  A  remarkable  sadness 
pervades  all  these  Southern  airs. 

Many  song  composers  have  imitated  this  most  unique  musical 
product  of  the  country.  In  the  middle  of  the  century  Stephen 
Foster  rose  to  rapid  popularity  with  his  "Old  Folks  at  Home," 
which  became  the  popular  song,  rivalled  only  by  "Home  Sweet 
Home,"  which  was  taken  from  the  text  of  an  American  opera,  but 
of  which  the  melody  is  said  to  have  originated  in  Sicily.  There 
are  to-day  all  sorts  of  composers,  some  in  the  sentimental  style 
and  others  in  the  light  opera  vein,  whose  street  tunes  are  instantly 


480  THE  AMERICANS 

sung,  whistled  and  played  on  hurdy-gurdies  from  the  Atlantic  to  the 
Pacific,  and,  worst  of  all,  stridently  rendered  by  the  graphophones, 
with  megaphone  attachments,  on  verandahs  in  summer.  There 
are  composers  of  church  hymns,  of  marches  h  la  Sousa,  and 
writers  of  piano  pieces  by  the  wholesale.  All  serious  musicians 
agree  that  the  American,  unlike  the  Englishman,  is  decidedly 
musically  inclined,  but  he  is  the  incontestable  master  of  only  a 
very  modest  musical  art  —  he  can  whistle  as  nobody  else. 

Unlike  American  music,  American  paintings  are  no  longer 
strange  to  Europe.  In  the  art  division  of  the  last  Paris  Expo- 
sition Americans  took  their  share  of  the  honours,  and  they  are 
highly  appreciated  at  most  of  the  Berlin  and  Munich  picture 
shows.  Sargent  and  Whistler  are  the  best  known.  Sargent, 
as  the  painter  of  elegant  ladies,  prosperous  men,  and  interesting 
children,  has  undoubtedly  the  surest  and  most  refined  gift  with  his 
brush  of  any  son  of  the  New  World.  When,  a  few  years  ago,  a 
large  exhibition  of  his  works  was  brought  together  in  Boston,  one 
felt  on  standing  before  that  gathering  of  ultra-polite  and  almost 
living  humanity,  that  in  him  the  elegant  world  has  found  its  most 
brilliant,  though  perhaps  not  its  most  flattering,  transcriber. 
Whistler  is  doubtless  the  greater,  the  real  sovereign.  This  most 
nervous  of  all  artists  has  reproduced  his  human  victims  with 
positively  uncanny  perspicacity.  Like  Henry  James,  the  novelist, 
he  fathoms  each  human  riddle,  and  expresses  it  intangibly, 
mysteriously.  Everything  is  mood  and  suggestion,  the  dull  and 
heavy  is  volatilized,  the  whole  is  a  sceptical  rendering  in  rich 
twilight  tones. 

America  is  proud  of  both  artists,  and  still  one  may  doubt 
whether  the  art  of  the  New  World  would  be  justly  represented 
if  it  sent  across  the  ocean  only  these  two  pampered  and 
somewhat  whimsical  artists.  Firstly,  in  spite  of  much  brilliant 
other  work,  they  are  both  best  known  as  portraitists,  while  it  be- 
comes plainer  every  day  that  landscape  painting  is  the  most 
typical  American  means  of  expression.  The  profound  feeling 
for  nature,  which  pervades  American  poetry  and  reflects  the  na- 
tional life  and  struggle  therewith,  brings  the  American  to  study 
landscape.  Many  persons  think  even  that  if  American  artists 
were  to  send  ever  so  many  easel  pictures  across  the  ocean,  the 
artistic  public  of  Europe  would  still  have  no  adequate  judgment 


ART  481 

of  American  painting,  because  the  best  talent  is  busied  with  the 
larger  pieces  intended  for  wall  decoration.  The  great  number 
of  monumental  buildings,  with  their  large  wall  surfaces  and  the 
desire  for  ambitious  creations,  attract  the  American  to-day  to  wall- 
painting.  And  they  try  to  strengthen  the  national  character 
of  this  tendency  by  a  democratic  argument.  The  easel  picture, 
it  is  said,  is  a  luxury  designed  for  the  house  of  the  wealthy  and  is, 
therefore,  decadent,  while  the  art  of  a  nation  which  is  working 
out  a  democracy  must  pertain  to  the  people;  and  therefore  just 
as  early  art  adorned  the  temples  and  churches,  this  art  must 
adorn  the  walls  of  public  buildings,  libraries,  judicial  chambers, 
legislatures,  theatres,  railway  stations  and  city  halls.  And  the 
more  this  comes  to  be  the  case,  the  less  correct  it  is  to  judge 
the  pinctile  efforts  of  the  time  by  the  framed  pictures  that  come 
into  the  exhibitions.  Moreover,  many  of  the  more  successful 
painters  do  not  take  the  trouble  to  send  any  of  their  works  across 
the  ocean. 

Sargent  and  Whistler  also  —  and  this  is  more  important  — 
speak  a  language  which  is  not  American,  while  the  country  has 
now  developed  its  own  grammar  of  painting,  and  the  most 
representative  artists  are  seldom  seen  in  Europe.  In  painting, 
as  in  so  many  other  branches,  the  United  States  has  developed 
from  the  provincial  to  the  cosmopolitan  and  from  the  cosmo- 
politan to  the  national,  and  is  just  now  taking  this  last  step.  It 
is  very  characteristic  that  the  untutored  provincial  has  grown 
into  the  national  only  by  passing  through  a  cosmopolitan  stage. 
The  faltering  powers  of  the  beginner  do  not  achieve  a  self-con- 
scious expression  of  national  individuality  until  they  have  first 
industriously  and  systematically  imitated  foreign  methods,  and  so 
attained  a  complete  mastery  of  the  medium  of  expression. 

At  first  the  country,  whose  poor  population  was  not  able  to  pay 
much  attention  to  pictures,  turned  entirely  to  England.  West 
and  Copley  are  the  only  pre-Revolutionary  Americans  whose 
pictures  possess  any  value.  The  portraits  of  their  predecessors 
—  as,  for  instance,  those  in  Memorial  Hall  at  Harvard  —  are  stiff, 
hard,  and  expressionless.  Then  came  Gilbert  Stuart  at  the  end 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  whose  portraits  of  George  and  Martha 
Washington  are  famous,  and  who  showed  himself  an  artistic  genius 
and  quite  the  equal  of  the  great  English  portraitists.  John 


482  THE  AMERICANS 

Trumbull,  an  officer  in  the  Revolutionary  Army,  who  lived  at  the 
same  time,  was  still  more  important  for  the  national  history  by 
his  war  pictures,  the  best  of  which  were  considerably  above 
contemporary  productions.  The  historical  wall-paintings  which 
he  made  in  1817,  for  the  Capitol  at  Washington,  are  in  his  later 
and  inferior  manner.  They  seem  to-day,  like  everything  which 
was  done  in  the  early  part  of  the  century  to  decorate  the 
Capitol,  hackneyed  and  tiresome.  And  if  one  goes  from  the 
Capitol  to  the  Congressional  Library,  which  shows  the  condition 
of  art  at  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century,  one  feels  how  far  the 
public  taste  of  Trumbull's  time  was  from  appreciating  true  art. 
Portraiture  was  the  only  art  which  attained  tolerable  excellence, 
where,  besides  Stuart,  there  were  Peale,  Wright,  and  Savage. 
Then  came  the  day  of  the  "American  Titian,"  Allston,  whose 
Biblical  pictures  were  greatly  praised  for  their  brilliant  colouring. 

Hitherto  artists  had  gone  to  England  to  study  or,  indeed, 
sometimes  to  Italy.  In  the  second  third  of  the  century  they  went 
to  Diisseldorf;  they  painted  American  landscapes,  American 
popular  life,  and  historical  pictures  of  American  heroes,  all  in 
German  fashion.  They  delighted  in  genre  studies  in  the  Dussel- 
dorf  manner,  and  painted  the  Hudson  River  all  bathed  in  Ger- 
man moonlight.  While  the  popular  school  was  still  painting  the 
world  in  blackish  brown,  the  artistic  secession  began  at  about 
the  time  of  the  Civil  War.  Then  artists  began  to  go  to  Paris  and 
Munich,  and  American  painting  developed  more  freely.  It  was 
a  time  of  earnest,  profound,  and  independent  study  such  as  had 
so  far  never  been.  The  artist  learned  to  draw,  learned  to  see 
values,  and,  in  the  end,  to  be  natural.  The  number  of  artists 
now  began  to  increase,  and  to-day  Americans  produce  thousands 
of  pictures  each  year,  and  one  who  sees  the  European  exhibitions 
in  summer  and  the  American  in  winter  does  not  feel  that  the 
latter  are  on  a  much  lower  level. 

Since  Allston's  time  the  leaders  in  landscape  have  been  Cole, 
Bierstadt,  Kensett,  and  Gilford;  in  genre,  Leslie,  Woodville, 
and  particularly  Mount;  in  historical  painting,  Lentze  and  White; 
and  in  portraiture,  Inman  and  Elliott.  The  first  who  preached 
the  new  doctrine  of  individuality  and  colour  was  Hunt,  and  in  the 
early  seventies  the  new  school  just  graduated  from  Paris  and 
Munich  was  bravely  at  work.  There  are  many  well-known 


ART  483 

names  in  the  last  thirty  years,  and  it  is  a  matter  rather  of  indi- 
vidual choice  what  pictures  one  prefers  of  all  the  large  number. 
Yet  no  one  would  omit  George  Inness  from  the  list,  since  he  has 
seen  American  landscapes  more  individually  than  any  one  else. 
Besides  his  pictures  every  one  knows  the  marines  of  Winslow 
Homer,  the  street  scenes  of  Childe  Hassam,  the  heads  of  Eaton, 
the  autumn  forests  of  Enneking,  the  apple  trees  in  spring-time  of 
Appleton  Brown,  the  delicate  landscapes  of  Weir  and  Tryon, 
the  wall  pictures  of  Abbey,  Cox,  and  Low,  Gaugengigl's  little 
figure  paintings,  Vedder's  ambitious  symbolism,  the  brilliant 
portraits  of  Cecilia  Beaux  and  Chase,  the  women's  heads  of 
Tarbell,  the  ideal  figures  of  Abbot  Thayer,  and  the  works  of  a 
hundred  other  American  artists,  not  to  mention  those  who  are 
really  more  familiar  in  London,  Paris,  and  Munich  than  in 
America  itself. 

Besides  the  oil  pictures,  there  are  excellent  water-colours,  pas- 
telles,  and  etchings;  and,  perhaps  most  characteristic  of  all,  there 
is  the  stained  glass  of  La  Farge,  Lathrop,  the  late  Mrs.  Whitman, 
Goodhue,  and  others.  The  workers  in  pen-and-ink  are  highly 
accomplished,  of  whom  the  best  known  is  Gibson,  whose  Ameri- 
can women  are  not  only  artistic,  but  have  been  socially  in- 
fluential on  American  ideals  and  manners.  His  sketches  for 
Life  have  been  themselves  models  for  real  life.  Nor  should  we 
forget  Pennell,  the  master  of  atmosphere  in  pen-and-ink. 

Sculpture  has  developed  more  slowly.  It  presupposes  a  higher 
understanding  of  art  than  does  painting;  and,  besides  that,  the 
prudishness  of  the  Puritan  has  affected  it  adversely.  When 
John  Brazee,  the  first  American  amateur  sculptor,  in  the  early 
part  of  the  nineteenth  century,  asked  advice  of  the  president  of 
the  New  York  Academy  of  Arts,  he  was  told  that  he  would  better 
wait  a  hundred  years  before  practicing  sculpture  in  America. 
The  speech  admirably  showed  the  general  lack  of  interest  in 
plastic  ait.  But  the  impetuous  pressure  toward  self-perfection 
existing  in  the  nation  shortened  the  century  into  decades;  people 
began  to  journey  through  Italy.  The  pioneers  of  sculpture  were 
Greenough,  Powers,  Crawford,  and  Palmer,  and  their  statues 
are  still  valued  for  their  historical  interest.  The  theatrical  genre 
groups  of  John  Rogers  became  very  popular;  and  Randolph 
Rogers,  who  created  the  Columbus  bronze  doors  of  the  Capitol, 


484  THE  AMERICANS 

was  really  an  artist.  Then  came  Storey,  Ball,  Rinehart,  Hosmer, 
Mead,  and  many  others  with  works  of  greater  maturity. 
Squares  and  public  buildings  were  filled  with  monuments  and 
busts  which,  to  be  sure,  were  generally  more  interesting  politically 
than  artistically,  and  which  to-day  wait  patiently  for  a  charitable 
earthquake.  And  yet  they  show  how  the  taste  for  plastic  art 
has  slowly  worked  upward. 

More  recent  movements,  which  are  connected  with  the  names 
of  Ward,  Warner,  Partridge,  French,  MacMonnies,  and  St. 
Gaudens,  have  already  left  many  beautiful  examples  of  sculpture. 
Cities  are  jealously  watchful  now  that  only  real  works  of  art  shall 
be  erected,  and  that  monuments  which  are  to  be  seen  by  millions 
of  people  shall  be  really  characteristic  examples  of  good  art. 
More  than  anything  else,  sculpture  has  at  length  come  into  a 
closer  sympathy  with  architecture  than  perhaps  it  has  in  any 
other  country.  The  admirable  sculptural  decorations  of  the 
Chicago  World's  Fair,  the  effective  Dewey  Triumphal  Arch 
and  the  permanent  plastic  decorations  of  the  Congressional 
Library,  the  more  restrained  and  distinguished  decorations  of  the 
Court  of  Appeals  in  New  York  City,  and  of  many  similar  buildings 
show  clearly  that  American  sculpture  has  ended  its  period  of 
immaturity.  Such  a  work  as  St.  Gaudens's  Shaw  Memorial  in 
Boston  is  among  the  most  beautiful  examples  of  modern  sculp- 
ture; and  it  is  thoroughly  American,  not  only  because  the  negro 
regiment  marches  behind  the  mounted  colonel,  but  because  the 
American  subject  is  handled  in  the  American  spirit.  These  men 
are  depicted  with  striking  vigour,  and  the  young  hero  riding  to  his 
death  is  conceived  with  Puritan  sobriety.  Vigorous  and  mature 
is  the  American,  in  plastic  art  as  well  as  in  poetry. 

The  development  of  architecture  has  been  a  very  different 
one.  A  people  must  be  housed,  and  cannot  stay  out  of  doors 
until  it  has  learned  what  is  beautiful  in  architecture  People 
could  wait  for  poetry,  music,  and  painting  while  they  were  busy 
in  keeping  off  the  Indians  and  felling  the  forests;  but  they  had  to 
have  houses  at  once.  And  since  at  that  time  they  had  no  independ- 
ent interests  in  art,  they  imitated  forms  with  which  they  had  been 
familiar,  and  everywhere  perpetuated  the  architectural  ideas  of 
their  mother  country.  But  the  builder  is  at  a  disadvantage 
beside  the  painter,  the  singer,  and  the  poet,  in  that  when  he  imi- 


ART  485 

tates  he  cannot  even  do  that  as  he  will,  but  is  bound  down  by 
climate,  by  social  requirements,  and  especially  by  his  building 
material.  And  when  he  is  placed  in  new  surroundings,  he  is 
forced  to  strike  out  for  himself. 

Although  the  American  colonist  remained  under  the  influence 
of  English  architecture,  his  environment  forced  him  in  the  first 
place  to  build  his  house  of  wood  instead  of  stone  as  in  England, 
and  in  wood  he  could  not  so  easily  copy  the  pattern.  It  had  to 
be  a  new  variation  of  the  older  art.  And  so  architecture,  although 
it  more  slavishly  followed  the  mother  country  than  any  other  art, 
was  the  earliest  to  strike  out  in  some  respects  on  an  independent 
course.  It  borrowed  its  forms,  but  originated  their  applications; 
and  while  it  slowly  adopted  new  ideas  of  style  and  became  gradu- 
ually  free  of  European  styles,  it  became  free  even  earlier  in  their 
technical  application,  owing  to  the  new  American  conditions. 
More  than  any  other  feature  of  her  civilization,  American  archi- 
tecture reveals  the  entire  history  of  the  people  from  the  days  when 
the  Puritans  lived  in  little  wooden  villages  to  the  present  era  of 
the  sky-scraper  of  the  large  cities;  and  in  this  growth  more  than 
in  that  of  any  other  art  the  whole  country  participates,  and 
specially  the  West,  with  its  tremendous  energy,  which  is  awkward 
with  the  violin-bow  and  the  crayon  but  is  well  versed  in  piling 
stone  on  stone. 

In  colonial  days,  English  renaissance  architecture  was  imitated 
in  wood,  a  material  which  necessitated  slender  columns  and  called 
for  finer  detail  and  more  graceful  lines  than  were  possible  in 
stone.  One  sees  to-day,  especially  in  the  New  England  States, 
many  such  buildings  quite  unaltered;  and  the  better  of  these  in 
Salem,  Cambridge,  and  Newport  are,  in  spite  of  their  lightness, 
substantial  and  distinguished  as  no  European  would  think  pos- 
sible in  so  ordinary  a  material  as  wood.  Large,  beautiful  halls, 
with  broad,  open  staircases  and  broad  balusters,  greet  the  visitor; 
large  fireplaces,  with  handsomely  carved  chimney-pieces,  high 
wainscotings  on  the  walls  and  beautiful  beams  across  the  ceilings. 
The  more  modest  houses  show  the  same  thing  on  a  smaller  scale. 
There  was  this  one  style  through  the  whole  town,  and  its  rules 
were  regarded  as  canonical.  In  certain  parts  of  the  country 
there  were  inconspicuous  traces  of  Spanish,  French,  and  Dutch 
influence,  which  survive  to-day  in  many  places,  especially  in 


486  THE  AMERICANS 

the  South,  and  contribute  to  the  picturesqueness  of  the  archi- 
tectural whole. 

After  the  Revolutionary  period,  people  wished  to  break  with 
English  traditions,  and  the  immigration  from  many  different 
countries  brought  a  great  variety  of  architectural  stimulation.  A 
time  of  general  imitation  had  arrived,  for  in  architecture  also  the 
country  was  to  grow  from  the  provincial  to  the  national  through 
a  cosmopolitan  stage.  At  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
architecture  was  chiefly  influenced  by  the  classic  Greek.  Farm- 
houses masqueraded  as  big  temples,  and  the  thoughtless  applica- 
tion of  this  form  became  so  monotonous  that  it  was  not  continued 
very  long  in  private  houses.  Then  the  Capitol  at  Washington 
was  begun  by  Latrobe  and  finished  by  the  more  competent 
Bulfinch,  and  it  became  the  model  for  almost  all  state  capitols 
of  the  Union.  Bulfinch  himself  designed  the  famous  State  House 
of  Massachusetts,  but  it  was  the  Puritan  spirit  of  Boston  which 
selected  the  austere  Greek  temple  to  typify  the  public  spirit. 
The  entire  century,  in  spite  of  many  variations,  stood  under 
this  influence,  and  until  recently  nobody  has  ventured  to  put  up 
a  civil  structure  in  a  freer,  more  picturesque  style. 

Many  of  these  single  state  capitols  built  during  the  century, 
such  as  the  old  one  at  Albany,  are  admirable;  while  the  post- 
offices,  custom-houses,  and  other  buildings  dedicated  to  federal 
uses  have  been  put  up  until  recently  cheaply  and  without  thought. 
Lately,  however,  the  architect  has  been  given  freer  play.  Mean- 
while taste  had  wandered  from  the  classic  era  to  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  the  English  Gothic  had  come  to  be  popular.  The 
romantic  took  the  place  of  the  classic,  and  the  buildings  were 
made  picturesque.  The  effect  of  this  was  most  happy  on  church 
edifices,  and  about  the  middle  of  the  century  Richard  Upjohn, 
"the  father  of  American  architecture,"  built  a  number  of  famous 
churches  in  the  Gothic  style. 

But  in  secular  edifices  this  spirit  went  wholly  to  architectural 
lawlessness.  People  were  too  little  trained  to  preserve  a  disci- 
pline of  style  along  with  the  freedom  of  the  picturesque.  And 
even  more  unfortunate  than  the  lack  of  training  of  the  architect, 
who  committed  improprieties  because  uncertain  in  his  judg- 
ment, there  was  the  tastelessness  of  the  parvenu  patron,  and  this 
particularly  in  the  West.  Then  came  the  time  of  unrest  and  vulgar 


ART  487 

splurge,  when  in  a  single  residential  street  palaces  from  all  parts 
of  the  world  were  cheaply  copied,  and  just  as  in  Europe  forgotten 
styles  were  superficially  reproduced.  The  Queen  Anne  style  be- 
came fashionable;  and  then  native  colonial  and  Dutch  motives 
were  revived. 

This  period  is  now  long  past.  The  last  twenty-five  years  in  the 
East  and  the  last  ten  years  in  the  West  have  seen  this  tasteless, 
hap-hazard,  and  ignorant  experimenting  with  different  styles  give 
place  to  building  which  is  thoughtful,  independent,  and  gen- 
erally beautiful;  though,  of  course,  much  that  is  ugly  has  contin- 
ued to  be  built.  Architecture  itself  has  developed  a  careful  school, 
and  the  public  has  been  trained  by  the  architects.  Of  course, 
many  regrettable  buildings  survive  from  former  periods,  so  that 
the  general  impression  to-day  is  often  very  confused;  but  the 
newer  streets  in  the  residential,  as  well  as  the  business,  portions  of 
cities  and  towns  display  the  fitting  homes  and  office  buildings  of 
a  wealthy,  independent,  and  art-loving  people.  In  comparison 
with  Europe,  a  negative  feature  may  be  remarked;  namely,  the 
notable  absence  of  rococo  tendencies.  It  is  sometimes  found  in 
interior  decorations,  but  never  on  exteriors. 

The  positive  features  which  especially  strike  the  European  are 
the  prevalence  of  Romanesque  and  of  the  sky-scrapers.  The 
round  arch  of  the  Romans  comes  more  immediately  from  southern 
France;  but  since  its  introduction  to  America,  notably  by  the 
architectural  genius  Richardson,  the  round  arch  has  become  far 
more  popular  than  in  Europe,  and  has  given  rise  to  a  character- 
istic American  style,  which  is  represented  to-day  in  hundreds  of 
substantial  buildings  all  over  the  country.  There  is  something 
heavy,  rigid,  and  at  the  same  time  energetic,  in  these  great  arches 
resting  on  short  massive  columns,  in  the  great,  pointed,  round 
towers,  in  the  heavy  balconies  and  the  low  arcades.  The  primitive 
force  of  America  has  found  its  artistic  expression  here,  and  the 
ease  with  which  the  new  style  has  adapted  itself  to  castle-like 
residences,  banks,  museums,  and  business  houses,  and  the  quick- 
ness with  which  it  has  been  adopted,  in  the  old  streets  of  Boston 
as  in  the  newer  ones  of  Chicago  and  Minneapolis,  all  show 
clearly  that  it  is  a  really  living  style,  and  not  merely  an  architec- 
tural whim. 

The  Romanesque  style  grew  from  an  artistic  idea,  while  the 


488  THE  AMERICANS 

sky-scraper  has  developed  through  economic  exigencies.  New 
York  is  an  island,  wherefore  the  stage  of  her  great  business  life 
cannot  be  extended,  and  every  inch  has  had  to  be  most  advan- 
tageously employed.  It  was  necessary  to  build  higher  than  com- 
mercial structures  have  ever  been  carried  in  Europe.  At  first 
these  buildings  were  twenty  stories  high,  but  now  they  are  even 
thirty.  To  rest  such  colossal  structures  on  stone  walls  would 
have  necessitated  making  the  walls  of  the  lower  stories  so  thick 
as  to  take  up  all  the  most  desirable  room,  and  stone  was  there- 
fore replaced  by  steel.  The  entire  structure  is  simply  a  steel 
framework,  lightly  cased  in  stone.  Herewith  arose  quite  new 
architectural  problems.  The  sub-division  of  the  twenty-story 
facade  was  a  much  simpler  problem  than  the  disposal  of  the 
interior  space,  where  perhaps  twenty  elevators  have  to  be  speeding 
up  and  down,  and  ten  thousand  men  going  in  and  out  each  day. 
The  problem  has  been  admirably  solved.  The  absolute  adapta- 
tion of  the  building  to  its  requirements,  and  its  execution  in  the 
most  appropriate  material  —  namely,  steel  and  marble  —  the 
shaping  of  the  rooms  to  the  required  ends,  and  the  carrying  out 
of  every  detail  in  a  thoroughly  artistic  spirit  make  a  visit  to  the 
best  office  buildings  of  New  York  an  aesthetic  delight.  And  since 
very  many  of  these  are  now  built  side  of  one  another,  they  give 
the  sky-line  of  the  city  a  strength  and  significance  which  strike 
every  one  who  is  mature  enough  to  find  beauty  in  that  to  which  he 
is  not  accustomed.  When  the  problem  had  once  been  solved, 
it  was  natural  for  other  industrial  cities  to  imitate  New  York, 
and  the  sky-scraper  is  now  planted  all  over  the  West. 

American  architecture  of  to-day  is  happily  situated,  because 
the  population  is  rapidly  growing,  is  extraordinarily  wealthy, 
and  seriously  fond  of  art.  An  architect  who  has  to  be  economical, 
must  make  beauty  secondary  to  utility.  In  the  western  part  of 
the  country,  considerable  economy  is  often  exercised  and  mostly 
in  the  very  worst  way.  The  pretentious  appearance  of  the  build- 
ing is  preserved,  but  the  construction  is  made  cheap;  the  exterior 
is  made  of  stucco  instead  of  stone,  and  the  interior  finish  is  not 
carved,  but  pressed.  This  may  not,  after  all,  be  so  much  for 
the  sake  of  economy,  as  by  reason  of  a  deficient  aesthetic  sense. 
People  who  would  not  think  of  preferring  a  chromo-lithograph  to 
an  oil-painting  do  not  as  yet  feel  a  similar  distinction  between 


ART 

architectural  materials.  For  the  most  part,  however,  the  build- 
ings now  erected  are  rich  and  substantial.  The  large  public  and* 
semi-public  buildings,  court-houses  and  universities,  state  capi- 
tols  and  city  halls,  libraries  and  museums  are  generally  brilliant 
examples  of  architecture.  The  same  is  true  of  the  buildings  for 
industrial  corporation,  offices,  banks,  hotels,  life-insurance  com- 
panies, stock-exchanges,  counting-houses,  railway  stations,  thea- 
tres and  clubs,  all  of  which,  by  their  restrained  beauty,  inspire 
confidence  and  attract  the  eye.  These  are  companies  with  such 
large  capital  that  they  never  think  of  exercising  economy  on  their 
buildings.  The  architect  can  do  quite  as  he  likes.  New  York 
has  a  dozen  large  hotels,  each  one  of  which  is,  perhaps,  more 
splendid  in  marble  and  other  stones  than  any  hotel  in  Europe;  and 
while  Chicago,  Boston,  and  other  cities  have  fewer  such  hotels, 
they  have  equally  handsome  ones. 

The  fabulously  rapid  and  still  relatively  late  growth  of  hand- 
some public  buildings  in  the  last  decade  is  interesting  from  still 
another  point  of  view.  It  reveals  a  trait  in  the  American  public 
mind  which  we  have  repeatedly  contrasted  with  the  thought  of 
Europe.  American  ambitions  have  grown  out  of  the  desire  for 
self-perfection.  The  American's  own  person  must  be  scrupulously, 
neatly,  and  carefully  dressed,  his  own  house  must  be  beautiful;  and 
only  when  the  whole  nation,  as  it  were,  has  satisfied  the  needs  of 
the  individual  can  aesthetic  feeling  go  out  to  the  community  as  a 
v,Thole  —  from  the  individual  persons  to  the  city,  from  the  private 
house  to  the  public  building.  It  has  been  exactly  the  opposite 
on  the  European  Continent.  The  ideal  individual  was  later  than 
the  ideal  community.  Splendid  public  buildings  were  first  put 
up  in  Europe,  while  people  resided  in  ugly  and  uninviting  houses. 

There  was  a  period  in  which  the  American  did  not  mind  step- 
ping from  his  daily  bath,  and  going  from  his  sumptuous  home 
immaculately  attired  to  a  railway  station  or  court-house  which 
was  screamingly  hideous  and  reeking  with  dirt.  And  similarly 
there  was  a  time  in  which  the  Germans  and  the  French  moved 
in  and  out  of  the  wonderful  architectural  monuments  of  their  past 
in  dirty  clothing,  and  perhaps  without  having  bathed  for  many 
days.  In  Germany  the  public  building  has  influenced  the  individ- 
ual, and  eventually  worked  toward  beautifying  his  house.  In 
America  the  individual  and  the  private  house  have  only  very 


490  THE  AMERICANS 

slowly  spread  their  aesthetic  ideals  through  the  public  buildings. 
The  final  results  in  both  countries  must  be  the  same.  There  is 
exactly  the  same  contrast  in  the  ethical  field;  whereas  in  Germany 
and  France  public  rrorals  have  spread  into  private  life,  in  America 
individual  morals  have  spread  into  public  life.  As  soon  as  the 
transition  has  commenced  it  proceeds  rapidly. 

In  Germany  few  private  houses  are  now  built  without  a  bath- 
room, and  in  America  few  public  buildings  without  consideration 
for  what  is  beautiful.  The  great  change  in  railway  stations  indi- 
cates the  rapidity  of  the  movement.  Even  ten  years  ago  there 
were  huge  car-sheds  in  the  cities,  and  little  huts  in  country  dis- 
tricts, which  so  completely  lacked  any  pretensions  to  beauty  that 
aesthetic  criticism  was  simply  out  of  place.  Now,  on  the  contrary, 
most  of  the  large  cities  have  palatial  stations,  of  which  some  are 
among  the  most  beautiful  in  the  world,  and  many  railway  com- 
panies have  built  attractive  little  stations  all  along  their  lines. 
As  soon  as  such  a  state  of  things  has  come  about,  a  reciprocal 
influence  takes  place  between  the  individual  and  the  communal 
desire  for  perfection,  and  the  aesthetic  level  of  the  nation  rises 
daily.  So,  too,  the  different  arts  stimulate  one  another.  The 
architect  plans  his  work  from  year  to  year  more  with  the  painter 
and  sculptor  in  mind,  so  that  the  erection  of  new  buildings  and 
the  growth  and  wealth  of  the  people  benefit  not  merely  archi- 
tecture, but  the  other  arts  as  well. 

Still  other  factors  are  doing  their  part  to  elevate  the  artistic  life 
of  the  United  States.  And  here  particularly  works  the  improved 
organization  of  the  artistic  professions.  In  former  times,  the  true 
artist  had  to  prefer  Europe  to  his  native  home,  because  in  his  home 
he  found  no  congenial  spirits;  this  is  now  wholly  changed.  There 
is  still  the  complaint  that  the  American  cities  are  even  now  no 
Kunststadte;  and,  compared  with  Munich  or  with  Paris,  this  is 
still  true.  But  New  York  is  no  more  and  no  less  a  Kunststadte 
than  is  Berlin.  In  all  the  large  cities  of  America  the  connoisseurs 
and  patrons  of  art  have  organized  themselves  in  clubs,  and  the 
national  organizations  of  architects,  painters,  and  sculptors,  have 
become  influential  factors  in  public  life;  and  the  large  art  schools 
with  well-known  teachers  and  the  studios  of  private  masters  have 
become  great  centres  for  artistic  endeavour.  A  general  historical 
study  of  architecture  has  even  been  introduced  in  universities,  and 


ART  4.91 

already  the  erection  of  a  national  academy  of  art  is  so  actively  dis- 
cussed that  it  will  probably  be  very  soon  realized.  Certainly  every 
American  artist  will  continue  to  visit  Europe,  as  every  German 
artist  visits  Italy;  but  all  the  conditions  are  now  ripe  in  America 
for  developing  native  talent  on  native  soil. 

The  artistic  education  of  the  public  is  not  less  important  nor  far 
behind  the  professional  education  of  the  artist.  We  have  dis- 
cussed the  general  appreciation  of  architecture,  and  the  same 
public  education  is  quietly  going  on  in  the  art  museums.  Of 
course,  the  public  art  galleries  of  America  are  necessarily  far  behind 
those  of  Europe,  since  the  art  treasures  of  the  world  were  for  the 
most  part  distributed  when  America  began  to  collect.  And  yet 
it  is  surprising  what  treasures  have  been  secured,  and  in  some 
branches  of  modern  painting  and  industrial  art  the  American  col- 
lections are  not  to  be  surpassed.  Thus  the  Japanese  collection 
of  pottery  in  Boston  has 'nowhere  its  equal,  and  the  Metropolitan 
Museum  in  New  York  leads  the  world  in  several  respects.  Modern 
German  art  is  unfortunately  ill  represented,  but  modern  French 
admirably.  Here  is  a  large  field  open  for  a  proper  German  ambi- 
tion; German  art  needs  to  be  recognized  much  more  throughout 
the  country.  It  must  show  that  American  distrust  is  absolutely 
unjustified,  that  it  has  made  greater  artistic  advances  than  any 
other  nation,  and  that  German  pictures  are  quite  worthy  of  a  large 
place  in  the  collections. 

There  are  many  extraordinary  private  collections  which  were 
gathered  during  the  cosmopolitan  period  that  the  nation  has  gone 
through.  Just  as  foreign  architecture  was  imitated,  so  the  treas- 
ures of  foreign  countries  in  art  and  decoration  were  secured  at  any 
price;  and  owing  to  the  great  wealth,  the  most  valuable  things  were 
bought,  often  without  intelligent  appreciation,  but  never  without 
a  stimulating  effect.  One  is  often  surprised  to  find  famous  Euro- 
pean paintings  in  private  houses,  often  in  remote  Western  cities; 
and  the  fact  that  for  many  years  Americans  have  been  the  best 
patrons  of  art  in  the  markets  of  the  world,  could  not  have  been 
without  its  results.  At  the  height  of  this  collecting  period  Ameri- 
can art  itself  probably  suffered :  a  moderately  good  French  picture 
was  preferred  to  a  better  American  picture;  but  all  these  treasures 
have  indirectly  benefited  native  art,  and  still  do  benefit  it,  so  much 
that  the  better  artists  of  the  country  are  much  opposed  to  the 


492  THE  AMERICANS 

absurd  protective  tariff  that  is  laid  on  foreign  works  of  art.  The 
Italian  palace  of  Mrs.  Gardner  in  Boston  contains  the  most  superb 
private  collection;  but  just  here  one  sees  that  the  cosmopolitan 
period  of  collection  and  imitation  is,  after  all,  merely  an  episode  in 
the  history  of  American  art.  An  Italian  palace  has  no  organic 
place  in  New  England,  although  the  artistic  merits  of  the  Gardner 
collection  are  perhaps  nowhere  surpassed. 

The  temporary  exhibitions  which  are  just  now  much  in  fashion 
have, perhaps,  more  influence  than  the  permanent  museums.  Every 
large  city  has  its  annual  exhibitions,  and  in  the  artistic  centres, 
one  special  collection  comes  after  another.  And  the  strongest 
general  stimulation  has  emanated  from  the  great  expositions. 
When  the  nation  visited  Philadelphia  in  1876,  the  American  artis- 
tic sense  was  just  waking  up,  and  the  impetus  there  started  was 
of  decisive  significance.  It  is  said  that  the  taste  for  colour  in  house- 
hold decoration  and  fittings,  for  handsome  carpets  and  draperies, 
came  into  the  country  at  that  time.  When  Chicago  built  its  Court 
of  Honour  in  1893,  which  was  more  beautiful  than  what  Paris  could 
do  seven  years  later,  the  country  became  for  the  first  time  aware 
that  American  art  could  stand  on  its  own  feet,  and  this  aesthetic 
self-consciousness  has  stimulated  endeavour  through  the  entire 
nation.  In  Chicago,  for  the  first  time,  the  connection  between 
architecture  and  sculpture  came  properly  to  be  appreciated;  and, 
more  than  all  else,  the  art  of  the  whole  world  was  then  brought 
into  the  American  West,  and  that  which  previously  had  been 
familiar  only  to  the  artistic  section  between  Boston  and  Washing- 
ton was  offered  to  the  masses  in  Illinois,  Michigan,  Ohio,  and  Mis- 
souri. Chicago  has  remained  since  that  time  one  of  the  centres 
of  American  architecture,  and  the  aesthetic  level  of  the  entire  West 
was  raised,  although  it  is  still  below  that  of  the  Eastern  States.  And 
once  more,  after  a  very  short  pause,  St.  Louis  is  ambitious  enough 
to  try  the  bold  experiment  which  New  York  and  Boston,  like 
Berlin  and  Munich,  have  always  avoided.  The  World's  Fair  at 
St.  Louis  will  surely  give  new  impetus  to  American  art,  and 
especially  to  the  artistic  endeavour  of  the  Western  States. 

If  a  feeling  for  art  is  really  to  pervade  the  people,  the  influence 
must  not  begin  when  persons  are  old  enough  to  visit  a  world's  fair, 
but  rather  in  childhood.  The  instruction  in  drawing,  or  rather  in 
art,  since  drawing  is  only  one  of  the  branches,  must  undertake 


ART  493 

the  aesthetic  education  of  the  youth  in  school.  It  cannot  be 
denied  that  America  has  more  need  of  such  aesthetic  training  of 
children  than  Germany.  The  Anglo-Saxon  love  of  sport  leads 
the  youth  almost  solely  to  the  bodily  games  which  stimulate  the 
fancy  much  less  than  the  German  games  of  children,  and  other 
influences  are  also  lacking  to  direct  the  children's  emotional  life 
in  the  road  of  aesthetic  pleasure.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must  be 
admitted  that  the  problem  has  been  well  solved  in  America.  The 
American  art  training  in  school,  say  on  the  Prang  system,  which 
more  than  20,000  teachers  are  using  in  class  instruction,  is  a  true 
development  of  the  natural  sense  of  beauty.  The  child  learns  to 
observe,  learns  technique,  learns  the  value  of 'lines  and  colours, 
and  learns,  more  than  all,  to  create  beauty.  In  place  of  merely 
copying  he  divides  and  fills  a  given  space  harmoniously,  and  so 
little  by  little  goes  on  to  make  small  works  of  art.  Generations 
which  have  enjoyed  such  influences  must  look  on  their  environ- 
ment with  new  eyes,  and  even  in  the  poorest  surroundings  in- 
stinctively transform  what  they  have,  in  the  interests  of  beauty. 

Corresponding  to  these  popular  stimulations  of  the  sense  of 
beauty  is  the  wish  to  decorate  the  surroundings  of  daily  life,  most 
of  all  the  interior;  even  in  more  modest  circles  to  make  them  bright, 
pleasing,  and  livable,  whereas  they  have  too  long  been  bare  and 
meaningless.  The  arts  and  crafts  have  taken  great  steps  forward, 
have  gotten  the  services  of  true  artists,  and  accomplished  wonder- 
ful results.  The  glittering  glasses  of  Tiffany  and  many  other 
things  from  his  world-famous  studios  are  unsurpassed.  There 
are  also  the  wonderfully  attractive  silver  objects  of  Gorham,  the 
clay  vases  of  the  Rockwood  Pottery,  objects  in  cut-glass  and  pearl, 
furniture  in  Old  English  and  Colonial  designs,  and  much  else  of  a 
similar  nature.  And  for  the  artistic  sense  it  is  more  significant 
and  important  that  at  last  even  the  cheap  fabrics  manufactured 
for  the  large  masses  reveal  more  and  more  an  appreciation  of 
beauty.  Even  the  cheap  furniture  and  ornaments  have  to-day 
considerable  character;  and  no  less  characteristic  is  the  general 
demand,  which  is  much  greater  than  that  of  Europe,  for  Oriental 
rugs.  The  extravagant  display  of  flowers  in  the  large  cities,  the 
splendid  parks  and  park-ways  such  as  surround  Boston,  the  beau- 
tification  of  landscapes  which  Charles  Eliot  has  so  admirably 
effected,  and  in  social  life  the  increasing  fondness  for  coloured 


494  THE  AMERICANS 

and  aesthetic  symbols,  such  as  the  gay  academic  costumes,  the 
beautiful  typography  and  book-bindings,  and  a  thousand  other 
things  of  the  same  sort,  indicate  a  fresh,  vigorous,  and  intense 
appreciation  of  beauty. 

While  such  a  sense  for  visible  beauty  has  been  developed  by 
the  wealth  and  the  artistic  instruction  of  the  country,  one  special 
condition  more  has  affected  not  only  the  fine  arts  but  also  poetry 
and  literature.  This  is  the  development  of  the  national  feeling, 
which  more  than  anything  else  has  stimulated  literary  and  artistic 
life.  The  American  feels  that  he  has  entered  the  exclusive  circle 
of  world  powers,  and  must  like  the  best  of  them  realize  and  express 
his  own  nature.  He  is  conscious  of  a  mission,  and  the  national 
feeling  is  unified  much  less  by  a  common  past  than  by  a  common 
ideal  for  the  future.  His  national  feeling  is  not  sentimental,  but 
aggressive;  the  American  knows  that  his  goal  is  to  become  typi- 
cally American.  All  this  gives  him  the  courage  to  be  individual, 
to  have  his  own  points  of  view,  and  since  he  has  now  studied  his- 
tory and  mastered  technique,  this  means  no  longer  to  be  odd  and 
freakish,  but  to  be  truly  original  and  creative.  He  is  now  for  the 
first  time  thoroughly  aware  what  a  wealth  of  artistic  problems  is 
offered  by  his  own  continent,  by  his  history,  by  his  surroundings, 
and  by  his  social  conditions.  And  just  as  American  science  has 
been  most  successful  in  developing  the  history,  geography,  geol- 
ogy, zoology,  and  anthropology  of  the  American  Continent,  so  now 
his  new  art  and  literature  are  looking  about  for  American  material. 

His  hopes  are  high;  he  sees  indications  of  a  new  art  approach- 
ing which  will  excite  the  admiration  of  the  world.  He  feels  that 
the  great  writer  is  not  far  off  who  will  express  the  New  World  in 
the  great  American  novel.  Who  shall  say  that  these  hopes  may 
not  be  realized  to-morrow  ?  For  it  is  certain  that  he  enjoys 
an  unusual  combination  of  favourable  conditions  for  developing  a 
world  force.  Here  are  a  people  thoroughly  educated  in  the  appre- 
ciation of  literature  and  art  —  a  people  in  the  hey-day  of  success, 
with  their  national  feeling  growing,  and  having,  by  reason  of  their 
economic  prosperity,  the  amplest  means  for  encouraging  art;  a  peo- 
ple who  find  in  their  own  country  untold  treasures  of  artistic  and 
literary  problems,  and  who  in  the  structure  of  their  government 
and  customs  favour  talent  wherever  it  is  found;  a  people  who  have 
learned  much  in  cosmopolitan  studies  and  to-day  have  mastered 


ART  495 

every  technique,  who  have  absorbed  the  temperament  and  ambi- 
tions of  the  most  diverse  races  and  yet  developed  their  own  con- 
sistent, national  consciousness,  in  which  indomitable  will,  fertile 
invention,  Puritan  morals,  and  irrepressible  humour  form  a  com- 
bination that  has  never  before  been  known.  The  times  seem 
ripe  for  something  great 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

Religion 

THE  individualistic  conception  of  life  and  the  religious  con- 
ceptions of  the  world  favour  each  other.  The  more  that  an 
individual's  religious  temperament  sees  this  earthly  life 
merely  as  a  preparation  for  the  heavenly,  the  more  he  puts  all  his 
efforts  into  the  development  of  his  individual  personality.  Gen- 
eral concepts,  civilizations,  and  political  powers  cannot,  as  such, 
enter  the  gates  of  heaven;  and  the  perfection  of  the  individual 
soul  is  the  only  thing  which  makes  for  eternal  salvation.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  more  deeply  individualism  and  the  desire  for 
self-perfection  have  taken  hold  on  a  person,  so  much  the  deeper 
is  his  conviction  that  the  short  shrift  before  death  is  not  the 
whole  meaning  of  human  existence,  and  that  his  craving  for 
personal  development  hints  at  an  existence  beyond  this  world. 
Through  such  individualism,  it  is  true,  religion  is  in  a  sense  nar- 
rowed; the  idea  of  immortality  is  unduly  emphasized.  Yet  the 
whole  life  of  an  individualistic  nation  is  necessarily  religious. 
The  entire  American  people  are  in  fact  profoundly  religious,  and 
have  been  from  the  day  when  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  landed,  down  to 
the  present  moment. 

On  the  other  hand,  individualism  cannot  decide  whether  we 
ought  to  look  on  God  with  fear  or  with  joy,  to  conceive  Him  as 
revengeful  or  benevolent,  to  think  human  nature  sinful  or  good. 
The  two  most  independent  American  thinkers  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  Jonathan  Edwards  and  Benjamin  Franklin,  represent 
here  the  two  extremes.  The  men  who  have  made  American  history 
and  culture  took  in  early  times  the  point  of  view  of  Edwards,  but 
take  to-day  rather  that  of  Franklin. 

Can  it  be  said  that  America  is  really  religious  to-day  ?  From 
first  impressions,  a  European  may  judge  the  opposite;  first  and 


RELIGION 

most  of  all,  he  observes  that  the  government  does  not  concern 
itself  with  the  church.  Article  VI  of  the  Constitution  expressly 
forbids  the  filling  of  any  office  or  any  political  position  of  honour  in 
the  United  States  being  made  dependent  on  religion,  and  the  first 
amendment  adds  that  Congress  may  never  pass  a  law  aiming  to- 
establish  any  official  religion  or  to  hinder  religious  freedom.  This 
provision  of  the  Constitution  is  closely  followed  in  the  Constitu- 
tions of  the  several  states.  The  government  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  church;  that  is,  the  church  lacks  the  powerful  support 
of  the  state  which  it  receives  in  all  monarchical  countries;  and  in 
fact  the  state  interprets  this  neutrality  prescribed  by  the  Consti- 
tution so  rigorously  that,  for  example,  statistics  of  religious  adher- 
ence for  the  last  great  census  were  obtained  from  the  church  organ- 
izations, because  the  state  has  not  the  right  to  inquire  into  the 
religious  faith  of  citizens.  Ecclesiastics  pass  no  state  examinations 
to  show  their  fitness  to  preach;  millions  of  people  belong  to  no 
church  organization;  the  lower  masses  are  not  reached  by  any 
church,  and  the  public  schools  have  no  religious  instruction.  It 
might  thus  appear  as  if  the  whole  country  were  as  indifferent  to 
religion  as  European  humourists  have  declared  it  to  be,  in  saying 
that  the  Almighty  Dollar  is  the  American's  only  god. 

On  looking  more  closely,  one  finds  very  soon  that  the  opposite 
is  the  case.  Although  it  is  true  that  the  state  is  not  concerned 
with  religion,  yet  this  provision  of  the  Constitution  in  no  wise  sig- 
nifies any  wish  to  encourage  religious  indifference.  The  states 
which  united  to  form  the  Federation  were  profoundly  religious; 
both  Protestants  and  Catholics  had  come  to  the  New  World  to 
find  religious  freedom,  had  made  great  renunciations  to  live  in 
their  faith  untroubled  by  the  persecutions  of  the  Old  World,  and 
every  sect  of  Europe  had  adherents  on  this  side  of  the  ocean.  Not 
a  few  of  the  states  were,  in  their  general  temperament,  actually 
theocratic.  Not  only  in  Puritan  New  England  had  the  church 
all  the  power  in  her  hands,  but  in  the  colony  of  Virginia,  the  seat 
of  the  English  High-Churchmen,  it  was  originally  the  law  that  one 
who  remained  twice  away  from  church  was  flogged,  and  on  the 
third  time  punished  with  death.  WTien  America  broke  away 
from  England,  almost  every  state  had  its  special  and  pronounced 
religious  complexion.  The  majority  of  the  population  in  the 
separate  colonies  had  generally  forced  their  religion  on  the 


49&  THE  AMERICANS 

whole  community,  and   religious   interests  were  everywhere  in 
the  foreground. 

Although,  finally,  Jefferson's  proposition  constitutionally  to  sep- 
arate church  and  state  was  accepted,  this  move  is  not  to  be 
interpreted  as  indifference,  but  rather  as  a  wish  to  avoid  religious 
conflicts.  In  view  of  such  pronounced  differences  as  those  be- 
tween Puritans,  Quakers,  High-Churchmen,  Catholics,  etc.,  the 
establishment  of  any  church  as  a  state  institution  would  have  re- 
quired a  subordination  of  the  other  sects  which  would  have  been 
felt  as  suppression.  The  separation  of  the  church  from  the  state 
simply  meant  freedom  for  every  sect.  Then,  too,  not  all  the  sepa- 
rate states  followed  the  federal  precedent;  the  New  England  States 
especially  favoured,  by  their  taxation  laws,  the  Calvinistic  faith 
until  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century;  and  Massachusetts 
was  the  last  to  introduce  complete  religious  neutrality,  as  lately  as 
1833.  In  the  Southern  States,  the  relations  between  church  and 
state  were  more  easily  severed;  and  in  the  Middle  States,  even  dur- 
ing colonial  times,  there  was  general  religious  freedom. 

Whether  or  not  the  separation  was  rapid  or  slow,  or  whether 
it  took  place  under  the  passive  submission,  or  through  the  active 
efforts  of  the  clergy,  the  churches  everywhere  soon  became  the 
warmest  supporter  of  this  new  condition  of  things.  All  the  clergy 
found  that  in  this  way  the  interests  of  religion  were  best  preserved. 
The  state  does  nothing  to-day  for  the  churches  except  by  way  of 
laws  in  single  states  against  blasphemy  and  the  disturbance  of 
religious  worship,  and  by  the  recognition,  but  not  the  require- 
ment, of  church  marriage.  There  are  also  remnants  of  the  con- 
nection in  the  recognized  duty  of  the  President  to  appoint  the 
annual  day  of  Thanksgiving,  and  in  cases  of  signal  danger  to  ap- 
point days  of  fasting  and  prayer,  and  one  more  remnant  in  the  fact 
that  the  legislatures  are  opened  by  daily  prayer.  Otherwise,  the 
state  and  church  move  in  separate  dimensions  of  space,  as  it  were, 
and  there  is  no  attempt  to  change  this  condition. 

It  was,  therefore,  no  case  of  an  orthodox  minority  being  forced 
to  content  itself  with  an  unchurchly  state;  but  neither  party  nor 
sect  nor  state  had  the  slightest  wish  to  see  church  and  state  united. 
The  appreciation  of  this  mutual  independence  is  so  great  that 
public  opinion  turns  at  once  against  any  church  which  tries  to  exert 
a  political  influence,  whether  by  supporting  a  certain  political  body 


RELIGION  4.99 

in  local  elections  or  by  trying  to  obtain  public  moneys  for  its  edu- 
cational institutions  and  hospitals.  When,  for  instance,  the  prin- 
cipal anti-Catholic  organization,  the  so-called  American  Protective 
Association,  became  regrettably  wide-spread,  it  got  its  strength, 
not  from  any  Protestant  ecclesiastical  opposition,  but  only  from 
the  political  antipathy  against  that  church  which  seemed  the  most 
inclined  to  introduce  such  un-American  side  influences  in  party 
politics.  Every  one  felt  that  a  great  American  principle  was  there 
at  stake. 

Thus  the  legal  status  of  the  churches  is  that  of  a  large  private 
corporation,  and  nobody  is  required  to  connect  himself  with  any 
church.  Special  ecclesiastical  legislation  is,  therefore,  superfluous; 
every  church  may  organize,  appoint  officers,  and  regulate  its 
property  matters  and  disciplinary  questions  as  it  likes,  and  any 
disputed  points  are  settled  by  civil  law,  as  in  the  case  of  all 
corporations.  Just  as  with  business  companies,  a  certain  sort  of 
collective  responsibility  is  required;  but  the  competition  between 
churches,  as  between  industrial  corporations,  is  unhampered, 
and  the  relation  of  the  individual  to  his  church  is  that  of  ordinary 
contract.  One  hundred  and  forty-eight  different  sects  appeal  to- 
day for  public  favour.  To  the  European  this  sounds  at  first  like 
secularization,  like  a  lowering  of  the  church  to  the  level  of  a  stock 
company  —  like  profanation.  And  still  no  Catholic  bishop  nor 
Orthodox  minister  would  wish  it  different.  Now  how  does  this 
come  about  ? 

In  the  first  place  individualism  has  even  here  victoriously  carried 
through  its  desire  for  self-determination.  Nobody  is  bound  to 
belong  to  any  congregation,  and  one  who  belongs  is  therefore 
willing  to  submit  himself  to  its  organization,  to  subscribe  to  its 
by-laws,  and  to  support  its  expenditures.  Nobody  pays  public 
taxes  for  any  church,  nor  is  under  ecclesiastical  authority  which 
he  does  not  freely  recognize.  The  church  is,  therefore,  essentially 
relieved  of  any  suspicion  of  interfering  with  individual  freedom. 
The  individual  himself  is  for  the  same  reason  not  only  free  to 
adopt  or  to  reject  religion,  but  also  to  express  his  personal  views 
in  any  form  or  creed  whatsoever.  Only  where  the  church  ex- 
ercises no  authority  on  thought  or  conscience  can  it  be  supported 
by  the  spirit  of  self-determination.  Thus,  the  Mennonite  Church 
has  already  developed  twelve  sects,  the  Baptist  thirteen,  the 


5oo  THE  AMERICANS 

Methodist  seventeen,  and  all  of  these  are  equally  countenanced. 
At  the  same  time  the  reproach  can  never  be  made  that  the  church 
owes  its  success  to  the  assistance  of  the  state:  what  it  does  is  by  its 
own  might;  and  so  its  success  is  thoroughly  intrinsic  and  genuine, 
its  zeal  is  quickened,  and  its  whole  activities  kept  apart  from  the 
world  of  political  strife  and  directed  toward  ideals. 

The  church  which  is  not  supported  by  any  written  laws  of  the 
state  is  not,  for  that  reason,  dependent  alone  on  the  religious  ideals 
of  its  adherents,  but  also  on  the  unwritten  law  of  the  social  com- 
munity. The  less  the  authority  of  the  state,  the  more  the  society 
as  a  whole  realizes  its  duties;  and  while  society  remains  indifferent 
as  long  as  religion  is  enforced  by  external  means,  it  becomes 
energetic  as  soon  as  it  feels  itself  responsible  for  the  general 
religious  situation.  The  church  has  had  no  greater  fortune  than 
in  having  religion  made  independent  of  the  state  and  made  the 
affair  of  society  at  large.  Here  an  obligation  could  be  developed, 
which  is  perhaps  more  firm  and  energetic  than  that  of  the  state, 
but  which  is  nevertheless  not  felt  as  an  interference,  firstly,  because 
the  political  individual  is  untouched,  and  secondly,  because  the 
allegiance  to  a  certain  social  class  is  not  predetermined,  but  be- 
comes the  goal  and  the  honourable  achievement  of  the  individual. 
Of  course,  even  the  social  obligation  would  not  have  developed 
had  there  not  been  a  deep  religious  consciousness  living  in  the  peo- 
ple; but  such  individual  piety  has  been  able  to  take  much  deeper 
root  in  a  soil  socially  so  favourable.  A  religiously  inclined  popu- 
lation, which  has  made  churchliness  a  social  and  not  a  political 
obligation,  affords  the  American  church  the  most  favourable  con- 
dition for  its  success  that  could  be  imagined. 

One  may  see  even  from  the  grouping  of  sects,  how  much  the 
church  is  supported  by  society.  If  anywhere  democracy  seems 
natural,  it  should  be  in  the  eyes  of  God;  and  yet,  if  Americans 
show  anywhere  social  demarcations,  it  is  in  the  province  of  re- 
ligion. This  is  true,  not  only  of  different  churches  where  the  ex- 
pense of  membership  is  so  unequal  that  in  large  cities  rich  and 
poor  are  farther  apart  on  Sundays  than  on  week-days,  but  it  is 
true  of  the  sects  themselves.  Methodists  and  Episcopalians  or 
Baptists  and  Unitarians  form  in  general  utterly  different  social 
groups,  and  one  of  these  sects  is  socially  predominant  in  one 
section  of  the  country,  another  in  another.  But  just  because 


RELIGION  501 

religious  differences  are  so  closely  related  to  the  differences  exist- 
ing in  the  social  world,  the  relations  between  the  sects  are  thor- 
oughly friendly.  Each  has  its  natural  sphere. 

It  is  certain  that  the  large  number  of  sects  are  helpful  in  this  direc- 
tion, since  they  make  the  distinction  between  related  faiths  extreme- 
ly small,  sometimes  even  unintelligible  to  all  except  the  theological 
epicure;  and,  indeed,  they  often  rest  on  purely  local  or  ancestral 
distinctions.  Thus  the  German  Reformed  and  the  Dutch  Re- 
formed churches  are  called  two  sects,  and  even  the  African  Metho- 
dist Episcopalians  and  the  Coloured  Methodist  Episcopalians  wish 
to  be  distinguished  from  each  other  as  from  the  other  negro  sects. 
Where  large  parties  oppose  each  other,  a  war  for  principles  can 
break  out;  but  where  the  religions  merge  into  one  another  through 
many  small  gradations,  the  consciousness  of  difference  is  less  likely 
to  be  joined  to  any  feeling  of  opposition.  The  real  opponent  of 
churches  is  the  common  enemy,  the  atheist,  although  the  more 
straitlaced  congregations  are  not  quite  sure  that  the  Unitarians, 
who  are  most  nearly  comparable  to  members  of  the  German  Prot- 
estantenverein,  are  not  best  classed  with  the  atheists.  And, 
lastly,  envy  and  jealousy  do  not  belong  to  the  American  optimistic 
temperament,  which  does  not  grudge  another  his  success.  Thus 
everything  works  together  to  make  the  churches  get  on  peacefully 
with  one  another.  The  religion  of  the  country  stretches  from  one 
end  to  the  other,  like  a  brilliant  and  many-hued  rainbow. 

The  commingling  of  church  and  society  is  shown  everywhere. 
The  church  is  popular,  religious  worship  is  observed  in  the  home, 
the  minister  is  esteemed,  divine  worship  is  well  attended,  the  work 
of  the  church  is  generously  supported,  and  the  cause  of  religion 
is  favoured  by  the  social  community.  These  outlines  may  now 
be  filled  in  by  a  few  details.  The  American  grows  up  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  Bible.  The  church,  Sabbath-school,  and  the 
home  influences  work  together;  a  true  piety  rules  in  every  farm- 
house, and  whosoever  supposes  this  to  be  in  any-wise  hypocrisy  has 
no  notion  of  the  actual  conditions.  In  many  city  homes  of  artisans 
the  occupants  do  not  know  the  Bible  and  do  not  wish  to  know  it; 
but  they  are  in  no-wise  hypocritical,  and  in  the  country  at  large  reli- 
gion is  so  firmly  rooted  that  people  are  much  more  likely  to  make 
sham  pretences  of  general  enlightenment  than  of  religious  belief. 
Thus,  it  is  mostly  a  matter  of  course  that  festivals,  banquets,  and 


502  THE  AMERICANS 

other  meetings  which  in  Germany  would  not  call  for  any  religious 
demonstration  whatsoever,  are  opened  and  closed  by  prayer.  Relig- 
ious discussions  are  carried  on  with  animation  in  every  class  of 
society,  and  one  who  travels  about  through  the  country  finds  that 
business  and  religion  are  the  two  great  topics  of  conversation, 
while  after  them  come  politics.  It  is  only  among  individuals  who 
are  so  religiously  disposed,  that  such  vagaries  of  the  supernatural 
consciousness,  as  spiritualism,  healing  by  prayer,  etc.,  could  ex- 
cite so  much  interest.  But  also  normal  religious  questions  in- 
terest an  incomparably  large  circle  of  people;  nine  hundred  eccle- 
siastical newspapers  and  magazines  are  regularly  published  and 
circulated  by  the  millions. 

We  have  said,  furthermore,  that  divine  service  is  well  attended, 
and  that  clergymen  are  highly  esteemed.  In  the  non-political 
life,  especially  in  the  East,  the  great  preachers  are  among  the  most 
influential  people  of  the  day.  The  most  brilliant  ecclesiastic 
of  recent  decades  was,  by  common  consent,  Phillips  Brooks,  by 
whose  speech  and  personality  every  one  was  attracted  and  enno- 
bled; and  it  has  often  been  said  that  at  his  death,  a  few  years  ago, 
the  country  mourned  as  never  before  since  the  death  of  Lincoln. 
No  one  equal  to  him  has  appeared  since,  but  there  are  many 
ministers  whose  ethical  influence  must  be  accounted  among  the 
great  factors  of  public  life;  and  this  is  true,  not  only  of  the  Prot- 
estant ministers,  but  also  of  several  Catholic  ecclesiastics. 

The  same  is  true  in  the  more  modest  communities.  The  in- 
fluence of  the  preacher  is  more  profound  in  small  communities  of 
America  than  it  is  in  Germany.  But  it  is  weakened  at  once  if  the 
representative  of  the  church  descends  to  politics.  He  is  welcomed 
as  an  appropriate  fellow-worker  only  in  questions  that  border  both 
on  politics  and  on  morals  —  as,  for  instance,  the  temperance  ques- 
tion. The  high  position  of  the  clergy  is  interestingly  shown  from  the 
fact  that  the  profession  is  very  often  recruited  from  the  best  classes 
of  society.  Owing  to  the  American  effort  to  obliterate  social  dif- 
ferentiation as  much  as  possible,  it  is  difficult  to  make  sure  of  the 
facts  of  the  situation;  but  it  seems  pretty  certain  that  the  men  who 
study  for  the  ministry,  especially  in  the  Episcopalian,  Presby- 
terian, Congregational,  and  Unitarian  churches,  are  better  born 
than  the  men  who  become  school  teachers  and  physicians. 

The  preacher  steps  into  the  pulpit  and  faces  his  hearers  in  a 


RELIGION  503 

way  which  is  typically  American.  Of  course,  it  is  impossible  to 
reduce  the  ministerial  bearing  in  the  194,000  churches  of  the  coun- 
try to  a  single  formula;  but  one  thing  may  always  be  noted,  by  the 
European,  in  contrast  to  what  he  has  seen  at  home  —  the  obvious 
reference  of  the  sermon  to  the  worldly  interests  of  the  congrega- 
tion. Its  outer  form  already  shows  this;  the  similes  and  meta- 
phors are  borrowed  from  ordinary  and  even  vulgar  life,  the  appli- 
cations are  often  trivial,  but  forcible  and  striking,  and  even  anec- 
dotes are  introduced  and  given  in  colloquial  form.  More  than 
that,  the  topic  itself  is  chosen  so  as  to  concern  personally  nearly 
every  one  sitting  in  the  pews;  the  latest  vexation  or  disappointment, 
the  cherished  hope,  or  the  duty  lying  nearest  to  the  individual 
forms  the  starting-point  of  the  sermon,  and  the  words  of  the 
Bible  are  brought  home  to  the  needs  of  the  hearers  like  an  expected 
guest.  The  preacher  does  not  try  to  lure  the  soul  away  from 
daily  life,  but  he  tries  to  bring  something  higher  into  that  life 
and  there  to  make  it  living;  and  if  he  is  the  right  sort  of  a  preacher, 
this  never  works  as  a  cheapening  of  what  is  divine,  but  as  an 
exaltation  of  what  is  human. 

Doubtless  it  is  just  on  this  account  that  the  church  is  so  popular 
and  the  services  so  well  attended.  To  be  sure,  frequently  the  min- 
ister is  a  sensational  pulpit  elocutionist,  who  exploits  the  latest 
scandal  or  the  newest  question  of  the  day  in  order  to  interest  the 
public  and  attract  the  curious  to  church.  Often  the  worldly  qual- 
ity of  the  sermon  tends  to  another  form  of  depreciation.  The 
sermon  becomes  a  lecture  in  general  culture,  a  scientific  disserta- 
tion, or  an  educational  exercise.  Of  course,  the  abandonment  of 
the  strictly  religious  form  of  sermon  brings  many  temptations 
to  all  except  the  best  preachers;  yet,  in  general,  the  American  ser- 
mon is  unusually  powerful. 

The  popularity  of  the  church  does  not  depend  only  on  the  applic- 
ability of  the  sermon,  but  in  part  on  social  factors  which  are  not 
nearly  so  strong  in  any  part  of  Europe.  If  the  congregation  de- 
sires to  bring  the  general  public  to  church,  it  will  gain  its  end  most 
surely  by  offering  attractions  of  a  religiously  indifferent  nature. 
These  attractions  may  indirectly  assist  the  moral  work  of  the 
church,  although  their  immediate  motive  is  to  stimulate  church- 
going.  The  man  who  goes  to  church  merely  in  order  to  hear  the 
excellent  music  has  necessarily  to  listen  to  the  sermon;  and  one 


504.  THE  AMERICANS 

who  joins  the  church  for  the  sake  of  its  secular  advantages  is  at 
least  in  that  way  detained  from  the  frivolous  enjoyments  of  irre- 
ligious circles.  Thus,  the  church  has  gradually  become  a  social 
centre  with  functions  which  are  as  unknown  in  Germany  as  the 
"parlours  "  which  belong  to  every  church  in  America.  The  means 
of  social  attraction  must  naturally  be  adapted  to  the  character 
of  the  congregation;  the  picnics  which  are  popular  in  the  small 
towns,  with  their  raffles  and  social  games,  their  lemonade  and 
cake,  would  not  be  appropriate  to  the  wealthy  churches  on  Fifth 
Avenue.  In  the  large  cities,  aesthetic  attractions  must  be  sub- 
stituted—  splendid  windows,  soft  carpets,  fine  music,  elegant 
costumes,  and  fashionable  bazars  for  charity's  sake. 

But  the  social  enjoyment  consists  not  solely  in  what  goes  on 
within  the  walls  of  the  church,  but  specially  in  the  small  cities  and 
rural  districts  the  church  is  the  mediator  of  almost  all  social  inter- 
course. A  person  who  moves  to  a  new  part  of  the  town  or  to  an 
entirely  new  village,  allies  himself  to  some  congregation  if  he  is  of 
the  middle  classes,  in  order  to  form  social  connections;  and  this 
is  the  more  natural  since,  in  the  religious  as  in  the  social  life  of 
America,  the  women  are  the  most  active  part  of  the  family.  Even 
the  Young  Men's  Christian  Associations  and  similar  social  organ- 
izations under  church  auspices  play  an  important  role  utterly 
unlike  anything  in  Europe.  In  Germany  such  organizations  are 
popularly  accounted  flabby,  and  their  very  name  has  a  stale  flavour. 
In  America  they  are  the  centres  of  social  activity,  even  in  large 
cities,  and  have  an  extraordinary  influence  on  the  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  members  who  meet  together  in  the  splendid  club 
buildings,  and  who  are  as  much  interested  in  sport  and  education 
as  in  religion. 

How  fully  the  church  dominates  social  life  may  be  seen  in  the 
prevalent  custom  of  church  weddings.  The  state  does  not  make 
a  civil  wedding  obligatory.  As  soon  as  the  local  civil  board  has 
officially  licensed  the  married  couple,  the  wedding  may  legally 
be  performed  either  by  a  civil  officer  or  by  a  minister;  yet  it  is  a 
matter  of  course  with  the  great  majority  of  the  population  that 
the  rings  shall  be  exchanged  before  the  altar.  An  avowed  atheist 
is  not  received  in  any  social  circles  above  that  of  the  ordinary 
saloon,  and  while  a  politician  need  not  fear  that  his  particular 
religion  will  prevent  his  being  supported  by  the  members  of  other 


RELIGION  505 

churches,  he  has  no  prospects  for  election  to  any  office  if  he  should 
be  found  an  actual  materialist.  When  Ingersoll,  who  was  the 
great  confessed  atheist  of  the  country,  travelled  from  city  to  city 
for  many  years  preaching  somewhat  grotesquely  and  with  the 
looseness  of  a  political  agitator,  the  arguments  of  David  Friedrich 
Strauss,  in  return  for  an  admission  price,  he  found  everywhere 
large  audiences  for  his  striking  oratory,  but  very  few  believers 
among  all  the  curious  listeners. 

The  man  who  is  convinced  that  this  mechanical  interaction  of 
material  forces  is  the  whole  reality  of  the  world,  and  who  there- 
fore in  his  soul  recognizes  no  connection  between  his  will  and  a 
moral  or  spiritual  power  —  in  short,  the  man  who  does  not  believe 
something,  no  matter  whether  he  has  learned  it  from  the  church 
or  from  philosophy  —  is  regarded  by  the  typical  American  as  a 
curious  sort  of  person  and  of  an  inferior  type;  the  American  does 
not  quite  understand  what  such  a  man  means  by  his  life.  By 
picturing  to  one's  self  the  history  of  America  as  the  history  of  a 
people  descended  from  those  who  have  been  religiously  perse- 
cuted, and  who  have  made  a  home  for  such  as  are  persecuted,  ever 
since  the  days  when  the  "  Mayflower  "  landed  with  the  Puritans 
down  to  these  days  when  the  Jews  are  flocking  over  the  ocean  from 
Russia  and  the  Armenians  from  Turkey,  and  by  picturing  how 
this  people  have  had  to  open  up  and  master  the  country  by  hard 
fighting  and  hard  work,  and  how  they  were  therefore  constrained  to 
a  rigid  sense  of  duty,  a  serious  conception  of  life,  and  an  existence 
almost  devoid  of  pleasure,  and  how  now  all  historical  and  social 
traditions  and  all  educational  influences  strengthen  the  belief 
in  God  and  the  striving  for  the  soul's  salvation  —  one  sees  that 
it  cannot  be  otherwise,  and  that  the  moral  certainty  of  the  nation 
cannot  be  shaken  by  so-called  arguments. 

It  is  true,  of  course,  that  one  hears  on  all  sides  complaints  against 
the  increasing  ungodliness;  and  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  the  pro- 
letariat of  the  large  cities  is  for  the  most  part  outside  of  the  church. 
The  population  which  owns  no  church  allegiance  is  estimated  at 
five  millions,  but  among  these  there  is  a  relatively  large  fraction 
of  indifferent  persons,  who  are  too  lazy  to  go  to  church;  a  free- 
thinking  animosity  to  religion  is  uncommon.  The  American  who 
feels  that  his  church  no  longer  corresponds  to  his  own  belief  has 
an  ample  opportunity  to  choose  among  all  the  many  sects  one 


5o6  THE  AMERICANS 

which  is  just  adapted  to  himself.  He  will  leave  his  own  church 
in  order  to  join  some  other  straightway;  but  even  if  he  leaves 
church  attendance  in  future  to  his  wife  and  daughters,  or  if  he 
with  his  whole  family  leaves  the  congregation,  this  generally 
means  that  he  can  serve  God  without  a  minister.  Real  irreligion 
does  not  fit  his  character;  and  any  doubt  which  science  may  per- 
haps occasion  in  him  ends,  not  by  shaking  his  religion,  but  by 
making  it  more  liberal.  This  process  of  increasing  freedom 
from  dogma  and  of  intellectualization  of  the  church  goes  on 
steadily  in  the  upper  classes  of  society.  The  development  of  the 
Unitarian  Church  out  of  Orthodox  Calvinism  has  been  most  in- 
fluential on  the  intellectual  life  of  the  nation,  but  its  fundamental 
religious  tone  has  not  been  lessened  thereby. 

To  be  churchly  means  not  only  to  comply  with  the  ordinances  of 
the  church,  but  to  contribute  to  the  funds  of  the  church  and  to 
give  one's  labour.  And  since  the  state  does  not  impose  any  taxes 
in  the  interests  of  the  church,  material  support  is  wholly  dependent 
on  the  good  will  of  the  community.  In  fact,  lay  activity  is  every- 
where helpful.  Of  this  the  Sunday-schools  are  typical,  which  are 
visited  by  eight  million  children,  and  supported  everywhere  by  the 
willing  labour  of  unpaid  teachers.  The  known  property  belong- 
ing to  churches  is  estimated  at  seven  hundred  million  dollars,  and 
the  rental  of  seats  brings  them  handsome  incomes.  More  than 
this,  all  church  property  is  exempt  from  taxation. 

Nevertheless,  so  many  ecclesiastical  needs  remain  unsatisfied 
that  a  great  deal  of  money  has  to  be  raised  by  mite-boxes,  official 
subscriptions,  and  bequests,  in  order  for  the  churches  to  meet  their 
expenses;  and  they  seldom  beg  in  vain.  Members  of  the  congre- 
gations carry  on  their  shoulders  the  missions  among  the  irreligious 
population  in  large  cities  and  the  heathen  of  foreign  lands,  the 
expense  of  church  buildings,  and  of  schools  and  hospitals  belong- 
ing to  the  sect,  and  the  salaries  of  ministers.  The  theological  fac- 
ulties are  likewise  church  institutions,  whether  they  are  formally 
connected  with  universities  or  not.  There  are  to-day  154  such 
seminaries,  and  this  number  has  for  some  time  remained  almost  un- 
changed. In  1870  there  were  only  80,  but  there  were  142  in  1880, 
and  145  in  1890.  It  appears  from  the  statistics  that,  of  the  present 
154,  only  21  have  more  than  a  hundred  students,  while  twelve 
have  less  than  ten  students.  The  total  number  of  students  was 


RELIGION  507 

8,009,  and  of  teachers  994.  The  property  of  these  theological 
seminaries  amounts  to  thirty-four  million  dollars,  and  more  than 
a  million  was  given  them  during  the  last  year. 

The  pedagogical  function  of  the  church  is  not  limited  to  the 
Sunday-school  for  children  and  the  seminaries  for  ministers;  but 
in  these  two  branches  it  has  a  monopoly,  while  in  all  other  fields, 
from  the  elementary  school  to  the  university,  it  competes  with 
secular  institutions,  or  more  exactly,  it  complements  their  work. 
We  have  already  shown  how  important  a  role  private  initiative 
plays  in  the  educational  life  of  the  United  States,  and  it  is  only 
natural  that  such  private  institutions  should  be  welcomed  by  a 
part  of  the  public  when  they  bear  the  sanction  of  one  or  another 
religious  faith.  There  are  grammar  schools,  high  schools,  col- 
leges, and  universities  of  the  most  diverse  sects  to  meet  this  need; 
and  their  relation  to  religion  itself  is  equally  diverse,  and  ranges 
from  a  very  close  to  a  very  loose  one.  Boston  College,  for  in- 
stance, is  an  excellent  Catholic  institution  consisting  of  a  high 
school  and  college  under  the  instruction  of  Jesuits,  in  which  the 
education  is  at  every  moment  strongly  sectarian.  The  university 
of  Chicago,  on  the  other  hand,  is  nominally  a  Baptist  institution : 
yet  nobody  asks  whether  a  professor  who  is  to  be  appointed  is 
a  Baptist;  no  student  is  conscious  of  its  Baptist  character,  and 
no  lectures  give  any  indication  thereof.  Its  Baptist  quality  is 
limited  to  the  statute  that  the  president  of  the  university  and  two- 
thirds  of  the  board  of  overseers  must  be  Baptists,  as  was  the 
founder  of  the  institution. 

While  among  the  larger  universities,  Harvard,  Columbia,  Johns 
Hopkins,  Princeton,  Cornell,  and  all  state  universities,  are 
officially  independent  of  any  sect,  Yale  is,  for  instance,  said  to 
be  Congregational,  although  neither  teachers  nor  students  trou- 
ble themselves  with  the  question.  The  smaller  colleges  have  a 
much  more  truly  sectarian  character  ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that 
this  is  approved  by  large  circles,  especially  in  the  Middle  and 
Western  States.  The  sectarian  colleges  outnumber  the  non- 
sectarian;  and,  to  take  a  random  example,  we  may  note  that  in 
the  state  of  Michigan  the  State  University  at  Ann  Arbor  is  inde- 
pendent of  sect,  while  Adrian  College  is  Methodist,  Albion  Col- 
lege Episcopalian,  Alma  College  Presbyterian,  Detroit  College 
Catholic,  Hilledale  College  Baptist,  Hope  College  Reformed,  and 


$o8  THE  AMERICANS 

Olivet  College  is  Congregational.  This  inclination,  especially 
noticeable  in  country  districts,  to  a  religious  education  however 
so  slightly  coloured,  shows  how  deeply  religion  pervades  the  whole 
people. 

To  follow  the  separate  religions  and  their  diverse  religious 
off-shoots  cannot  be  our  purpose;  we  must  be  content  with  a 
few  superficial  outlines.  There  is  no  really  new  religious  thought 
to  record  ;  an  American  religion  has,  so  far,  not  appeared.  The 
history  of  the  church  in  the  New  World  has  only  to  report  how 
European  religions  have  grown  under  new  conditions.  The  ap- 
parently new  associations  are  only  unimportant  variations.  Some 
enthusiasts  have  appeared  from  time  to  time  to  preach  a  new  re- 
ligion with  original  distortions  of  the  moral  or  social  sense,  but  they 
have  expressed  no  moral  yearning  of  the  time,  and  have  remained 
without  any  deep  influence.  This  rests  in  good  part  on  the  con- 
servative nature  of  Americans.  They  snatch  enthusiastically  at 
the  newest  improvements  and  the  most  modern  reform,  but  it  must 
be  a  reform  and  not  a  revolution.  The  historical  continuity  must 
be  preserved.  The  Mormons,  the  Spiritualists,  and  the  adherents 
of  Christian  Science  might,  with  some  propriety,  be  called  pure 
American  sects;  but  although  all  three  of  these  excite  much  public 
curiosity,  they  have  no  importance  among  those  religions  which 
are  making  the  civilization  of  the  present  moment. 

The  religions  of  the  United  States  which  have  the  most  commu- 
nicants are  the  Methodist,  Baptist,  and  Roman  Catholic.  The 
religions,  however,  which  have  had  the  most  important  influence 
on  culture  are  the  Congregational,  Episcopalian,  Presbyterian,  and 
Unitarian.  Besides  these,  there  are  the  Lutheran,  the  Reformed, 
and  the  Jewish  churches;  all  the  other  denominations  are  small 
and  uninfluential.  The  churches  which  we  have  named  can  be 
more  or  less  distinguished  by  their  locality,  although  they  are  rep- 
resented in  almost  every  state.  The  Congregationalists  and  Uni- 
tarians are  specially  numerous  in  the  New  England  States,  the 
Episcopalians  and  Presbyterians  in  New  York  and  Pennsylvania, 
while  the  Methodists  are  specially  strong  in  the  South,  the  Baptists 
in  the  Middle  West,  and  the  Catholics  all  through  the  East.  Such 
special  demarcation  rests  firstly  on  the  relation  of  the  churches  to 
different  races  which  have  settled  in  different  places;  the  Episco- 
palians and  Congregationalists  are  mainly  English,  the  Presbyte- 


RELIGION  509 

rians  are  Scotch,  the  Catholics  are  Irish  and  South  German,  the 
Lutherans  are  North  German  and  Scandinavian,  the  Reformed 
Church  is  German  and  Dutch,  and  Methodism  has  spread  widely 
among  the  negroes. 

In  close  connection  herewith  are  the  social  distinctions.  The 
Methodist,  Baptist,  and  Catholic  religions  are  specially  religions 
of  the  masses;  the  others  are  more  exclusive.  It  is  especially  those 
religions  of  the  lower  classes  which  yield  to  every  tendency  toward 
breaking  up  into  sects;  only  Catholicism  maintains  a  firm  unity 
in  the  New  as  in  the  Old  World. 

The  old  Calvinistic  faith  which  was  brought  over  by  the  Puri- 
tans to  the  New  England  colonies  still  lives  in  the  Congregational 
Church.  This  church  has  played  a  greater  political  part  than 
any  other  from  the  colonial  days,  when  no  one  could  vote  who  was 
not  a  communicant,  down  to  the  time  when  it  took  an  active  stand 
against  slavery.  Its  expansion  was  limited  by  an  agreement  with 
the  Presbyterian  Church;  only  since  this  was  given  up,  has  it  en- 
tered all  the  states  of  the  Union.  And  yet  to-day  there  are  in 
Massachusetts  almost  700  Congregational  church  buildings,  and 
400  in  the  small  State  of  Connecticut;  but  only  300  in  the  State 
of  New  York,  100  in  Pennsylvania,  a  few  in  the  West,  and  still 
fewer  in  the  South. 

As  in  the  case  of  all  churches,  the  proportion  of  the  population 
belonging  to  this  church  can  only  be  approximately  given.  Since 
the  official  census  may  ask  no  questions  concerning  religion,  we 
have  to  rely  on  the  figures  of  the  church  itself,  which  regularly  refer 
to  the  actual  members  in  the  congregations.  Now  in  these  Evangel- 
ical, Catholic,  and  Jewish  congregations,  the  conditions  for  mem- 
bership are  so  unlike  that  the  figures  are  not  directly  comparable; 
and  even  among  the  Evangelical  churches,  it  is  clearly  false  to  find 
the  total  number  of  souls  allied  to  that  church,  as  this  is  usuall) 
found,  by  multiplying  the  number  of  communicants  by  some 
average  figure,  like  3.5.  In  view  of  the  social  and  ethnical  differ- 
ences between  these  churches,  the  percentage  of  children,  for 
instance,  is  very  different.  It  may  be  said  then,  although  with 
caution,  that  the  Congregational  population  embraces  about  two 
million  souls;  but  their  importance  in  the  shaping  of  American 
civilization  has  greatly  exceeded  their  numerical  representation. 
The  spirit  of  this  church  has  lent  ethical  seriousness  and  a  vigor- 


5io  THE  AMERICANS 

ous  sense  of  duty  to  the  whole  nation.  It  has  founded  the  first 
schools,  and  is  responsible  for  the  independence  of  the  country. 

It  is  even  more  necessary  to  weigh  the  votes  and  not  to  count 
them,  when  we  speak  of  the  optimistic  daughter  church  of  austere 
Calvinism,  the  Unitarian.  Probably  not  more  than  one  quarter 
of  a  million  persons  belong  to  the  Unitarian  Church;  but  the  influ- 
ence of  these  people  on  literature  and  life,  science  and  philosophy, 
has  been  incomparable.  The  church  has  existed  officially  since 
1815,  although  the  new  faith  began  to  spread  much  earlier  within 
the  Calvinistic  Church  itself.  There  is  nothing  theologically  new 
here,  since  the  main  teachings,  that  the  Trinity  is  only  a  dogma, 
that  God  is  One,  and  that  Christ  was  an  exemplary  man  but  not 
God,  go  back,  of  course,  to  the  fourth  century.  These  are  the  Arian 
ideas,  which  have  also  been  held  in  Europe  in  times  past.  The  sig- 
nificance of  the  American  Trinitarian  controversy  does  not  lie  in 
the  province  of  theology.  In  a  sense,  the  Unitarian  Church  has  no 
binding  belief,  but  aims  only  to  be  an  influence  of  ever-increasing 
faith  in  God,  which  welcomes  investigation,  advance,  and  differ- 
ence of  individual  thought,  within  the  unity  of  a  moral  and  ideal 
view  of  the  universe. 

Thus  it  has  been  an  entirely  natural  development,  for  example, 
for  the  theological  faculty  of  Harvard  University  to  go  over  from 
the  Congregational  to  the  Unitarian  faith  as  early  as  the  second 
decade  of  the  last  century,  and  in  recent  times  to  become  non-sec- 
tarian and  broadly  Christian,  filling  its  professional  chairs  with  the- 
ologians of  the  most  diverse  denominations.  The  significance  for 
civilization  does  not  lie  in  the  Unitarian  view  of  God,  but  in  its  anti- 
Calvinistic  conception  of  man.  This  church  says  that  man  is  not 
naturally  sinful,  but,  being  the  image  of  God,  is  naturally  good,  and 
that  the  salvation  of  his  soul  is  not  determined  by  a  predestination 
of  divine  grace,  but  by  his  own  right-willing.  Channing  was  the 
Unitarian  leader,  and  the  thinkers  and  writers  in  the  middle 
of  the  century  followed  in  his  footsteps.  Their  work  was  a  source 
of  moral  optimism.  This  confession  has  necessarily  remained 
small  by  reason  of  its  radical  theology,  which  too  little  satisfies  the 
imagination  of  the  profoundly  pious;  but  the  Unitarian  ideas  have 
come  everywhere  into  the  worship  of  aristocratic  churches. 

The  Episcopalian  faith,  which  is  English  Protestantism,  came  to 
the  shores  of  the  New  World  even  earlier  than  the  faith  of  Calvin. 


RELIGION  511 

The  English  faith  was  organized  in  Virginia  as  early  as  1607,  and 
for  a  long  time  no  other  faith  was  even  tolerated;  and  in  the  middle 
colonies  the  English  High  Church  spread  rapidly  under  the  influ- 
ence of  many  missionaries  from  England.  The  secession  of  the 
colonies  from  the  mother  country  was  destined  to  bring  a  check, 
but  soon  after  the  war  the  Episcopalian  Church  of  America  organ- 
ized itself  independently,  and  grew  steadily  through  the  East.  It 
has  to-day  seventy-five  bishops.  It  is  governed  by  a  council  which 
meets  every  three  years  in  two  divisions — an  upper,  which  consists 
of  bishops,  and  a  lower,  composed  of  delegates  sent  from  the  vari- 
ous dioceses.  The  diocese  elects  its  own  bishop.  Their  creed  is, 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  identical  with  that  of  the  Church  of 
England,  and  some  two  million  souls  are  affiliated  with  this  church. 

Also  the  Presbyterian  Church  of  the  New  World  goes  back  to 
the  seventeenth  century;  it  was  first  definitely  organized  in  the  be- 
ginning of  the  eighteenth,  under  Scotch  and  Irish  influences.  It 
stands  on  a  Calvinistic  foundation,  but  the  church  government  is 
the  distinguishing  feature;  at  its  head  are  the  elders,  the  Presby- 
ters. Twelve  different  sects  have  grown  out  of  this  church — as,  for 
instance,  the  Cumberland  Presbyterians,  who  broke  away  in  a  pop- 
ular religious  movement  in  1810;  other  sects  had  started  already 
on  European  soil  —  as,  for  instance,  the  Presbyterian  Church  of 
Wales,  which  is  perpetuated  in  America.  The  Presbyterian  popu- 
lation amounts  to  about  four  million  souls. 

The  Methodist  and  Baptist  congregations  are  much  larger. 
Methodism  comes  from  that  great  movement,  at  the  University  of 
Oxford  in  1729,  of  John  and  Charles  Wesley,  whose  Sacred  Club, 
with  its  Biblical  bigotry,  was,  on  account  of  its  methodical  precision, 
ridiculed  as  the  Methodist  Club;  and  the  nickname  was  accepted 
and  held  to.  It  was  a  question  of  bringing  the  English  church 
closer  to  the  heart,  of  profoundly  moving  every  individual  and  in- 
stilling a  deeper  piety  in  the  people.  In  order  to  preach  the  word 
of  God,  it  needed  neither  professional  theologians  nor  church  build- 
ings; laymen  were  to  be  the  preachers,  and  the  canopy  of  heaven 
their  church.  The  movement  began  to  spread  in  America  in  1766, 
and  while  in  England  it  remained  for  a  longer  time  nominally  with- 
in the  established  church,  American  Methodism  took  very  early  a 
different  course  from  Episcopalianism. 

The  peculiar  organization  of  the  congregation  is  a  prominent 


512  THE  AMERICANS 

feature.  Candidates  for  membership  are  accepted  after  a  six 
months'  probation,  popular  prayer-meetings  are  held  at  any  chosen 
spot,  the  lay  preachers  are  permitted  to  deliver  religious  talks  with- 
out giving  up  their  secular  occupations,  and  no  pastor  may  remain 
longer  than  five  years  over  any  congregation.  These  and  other 
provisions  are  rather  in  the  nature  of  concessions  to  the  religious 
needs  of  ordinary  people;  the  special  items  of  faith  differ  slightly 
from  those  of  the  mother  church,  and  are  of  comparatively  little  sig- 
nificance. The  number  of  communicants  has  grown  rapidly,  espe- 
cially among  the  negroes  of  the  South,  owing  to  the  large  camp- 
meetings,  where  many  persons  sing  and  pray  together,  and  work 
themselves  up  to  a  more  or  less  hysterical  point  of  excitement  under 
the  open  sky.  As  is  usual  among  less  cultivated  classes,  the 
tendency  to  form  sects  has  been  very  great;  small  groups  are 
continually  breaking  away,  because  they  cannot  believe  in  this  or 
that  feature  of  the  main  church.  Seventeen  principal  groups  may 
be  distinguished,  and  some  of  these  only  by  the  colour  of  the 
communicants.  The  Methodist  Episcopalians  are  by  far  the  most 
numerous,  and  all  the  Methodist  churches  together  must  embrace 
more  than  sixteen  million  people. 

The  twelve  or  thirteen  sects  of  Baptists  are  in  some  cases  widely 
different  in  the  matter  of  faith,  although  the  main  body  of  regular 
Baptists  are  Calvinistic,  and  the  church  is  organized  like  the  Cal- 
vinistic  Congregational  Church.  Each  congregation  governs  itself, 
and  the  one  point  which  all  have  in  common  is  that  they  renounce 
infant  baptism;  he  only  may  be  baptized  who  is  formally  able  to 
acknowledge  Christ,  and  he  must  be  baptized  not  by  sprinkling, 
but  by  immersion.  This  cult  originated  in  Switzerland  at  the  time 
of  the  Reformation,  and  gradually  gained  adherents  all  through 
Europe,  but  it  first  became  widely  spread  in  America,  where  it 
embraces  about  twelve  million  people.  Just  as  Methodism  is  a 
sort  of  popular  form  of  the  Episcopalian  Church,  the  Baptist  faith 
is  a  popularization  of  the  Congregational  Church.  The  main  di- 
vision of  the  regular  Baptists  is  made  between  the  Northern  and 
Southern  churches,  a  division  which  originated  in  the  middle 
of  the  century,  owing  to  the  diversity  of  opinion  about  slavery; 
and  the  third  main  group  of  Baptists  is  made  up  of  negroes. 

The  first  Lutherans  to  come  to  the  New  World  were  Dutchmen, 
who  landed  on  Manhattan  Island  in  1623.  But  tne  Dutch  au- 


RELIGION  513 

thorities  there  suppressed  all  churches  except  the  Reformed  Church, 
and  it  was  not  until  New  York  came  into  the  hands  of  the  English 
that  the  Lutheran  Church  got  its  freedom.  Lutherans  from  the 
Palatinate  settled  in  Pennsylvania  in  1710,  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century  began  their  definite  organization  into  synods 
under  the  influence  of  their  pastor,  Miihlenberg.  The  church 
grew  in  consequence  of  German,  and  later  of  Scandinavian,  immi- 
gration. Most  of  its  communicants  still  speak  German,  Swedish, 
Norwegian,  Finnish,  and  Icelandic,  and  those  who  speak  English 
are  mostly  of  German  descent.  All  together  they  make  a  popula- 
tion of  four  million  persons,  of  whom  one-fifth  live  in  Pennsylvania. 
The  Lutherans  have  formed  sixteen  sects. 

There  is  another  small  Protestant  sect,  which  likewise  originated 
in  Germany;  this  is  the  sect  of  Mennonites.  As  is  well  known,  they 
combine  the  Baptist  refusal  of  infant  baptism  with  the  principle  of 
non-resistance.  They  came  from  Germany  to  Pennsylvania  at  the 
end  of  the  seventeenth  century  in  order  to  escape  persecution,  and 
were  there  known  as  the  German  Friends.  Their  little  band 
has  the  honour  of  having  registered,  in  1688,  the  first  protest  against 
American  slavery.  Their  numbers  have  since  been  augmented 
from  Holland,  Switzerland,  Germany,  and  Russia,  and  to-day  the 
largest  part  of  the  Mennonites  is  said  to  be  in  America  —  in  spite 
of  which  they  number  hardly  more  than  150,000  persons. 

In  many  respects  the  Quakers  may  be  compared  with  the  Men- 
nonites. The  Quaker  Church  was  founded  in  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century  by  an  Englishman,  John  Fox,  and  spread  to 
America  as  early  as  1656,  where  it  now  numbers,  perhaps,  400,000 
persons,  living  chiefly  in  Indiana,  Ohio,  and  Pennsylvania.  The 
Quakers  lay  great  emphasis  on  silence,  and  even  in  their  meetings 
they  observe  long  pauses,  in  which  each  member  communes  with 
the  Holy  Spirit.  The  sins  for  which  a  Quaker  may  be  excom- 
municated from  his  church  are  the  denial  of  the  divinity  of  Christ 
or  of  the  divine  origin  of  the  Bible,  enlistment  in  the  army,  encour- 
agement of  war,  trading  in  alcohol,  drunkenness,  blasphemy,  mak- 
ing wagers,  participation  in  lotteries,  giving  an  oath  in  court,  and 
requiring  an  oath.  They  dress  in  black  or  grey,  and  are  known 
for  their  mild,  gentle,  and  yielding  characters. 

The  Roman  Catholic  Church  in  America  is  little  different  from 
the  Church  in  Europe.  It  has  grown  rapidly  in  the  nineteenth 


514-  THE  AMERICANS 

century,  owing  to  the  tremendous  numbers  of  Irish,  South  German, 
Polish,  Hungarian,  Italian,  and  Spanish  immigrants.  Catholic 
missionaries,  it  is  true,  were  the  first  Christian  ministers  in  the 
New  World.  They  accompanied  the  Spanish  expeditions,  and 
their  first  bishop  landed  in  1528.  Maryland  was  the  chief  Eng- 
lish colony  of  Catholics,  while  most  of  the  other  colonies  were  very 
intolerant  of  the  Romish  Church.  In  1700  New  York,  which  has 
to-day  a  half  million  Catholics,  is  said  to  have  had  only  seven 
Catholic  families;  and  even  in  1800  the  Catholic  population  of 
the  whole  United  States  was  estimated  at  less  than  150,000.  In 
1840  they  had  increased  tenfold,  and  number  to-day  probably  ten 
millions,  with  sixteen  archbishops  and  a  cardinal.  The  Catholic 
centres,  in  the  order  of  the  size  of  congregations,  are,  New  York, 
Boston,  Chicago,  Philadelphia,  St.  Paul,  New  Orleans,  Baltimore, 
Cleveland,  Buffalo,  Newark,  Providence,  Pittsburg,  Cincinnati, 
and  Milwaukee. 

The  Jews,  who  are  said  to  have  first  come  from  Brazil  in  1654, 
have  likewise  increased  rapidly  in  recent  years,  owing  to  the  extra- 
ordinary immigration  from  the  East  of  Europe.  They  must  number 
to-day  about  a  million  people,  and  if  the  latest  estimates  are  correct, 
nearly  one-half  of  these  have  not  gone  farther  than  New  York  City, 
which  would  therefore  have  a  larger  Jewish  population  than 
any  other  city  in  the  world.  The  larger  part  of  these  people  are 
Russian  Jews,  who  live  together  in  great  poverty  and  are  very  little 
Americanized.  The  division  made  by  the  census  into  Orthodox 
and  Reformed  Jews  does  not  represent  two  sects,  but  merely  a 
manner  of  grouping,  since  the  congregations  present  a  very  grad- 
ual transition  from  rigid  Asiatic  orthodoxy  to  a  reform  so  com- 
plete as  to  be  hardly  Jewish  at  all,  and  in  which  the  rabbis  are 
merely  lecturers  on  "ethical  culture." 

Many  other  churches  might  be  mentioned,  such  as  the  widely 
spread  sect  of  Disciples  of  Christ,  which  originated  in  America,  or 
the  Moravians,  Dunkards,  and  others  which  have  come  from  Eu- 
rope. But  it  will  be  enough  here  to  speak  of  only  a  few  specially 
typical  sects  that  have  been  manufactured  in  America.  The 
profane  expression  is  in  place,  since  they  are  all  artificially  devised 
organizations,  whose  founders  have  often  been  thought  dishon- 
est; such  are  the  Adventists,  the  Mormons,  the  Spiritualists,  and 
the  Christian  Scientists.  The  Adventists  were  gathered  in  by  Wil- 


RELIGION  .     5/5 

Ham  Miller,  of  Massachusetts,  who  in  the  year  1831  calculated  from 
figures  which  he  found  in  the  Bible  that  Christ  would  appear  again 
on  earth  in  the  year  1843.  This  prophecy  caused  a  great  many 
small  congregations  to  spring  up,  and  when  the  momentous  year 
came  and  brought  disillusionment,  and  even  after  a  second  simi- 
lar disappointment  at  a  later  year,  these  congregations  did  not 
break  up,  but  contented  themselves  with  the  less  risky  prediction 
that  Christ  would  make  His  appearance  soon.  There  are  Ad- 
ventists  in  all  the  states,  and  especially  in  Michigan.  They  have 
broken  up  into  smaller  sects,  of  which  a  few  are  always  making 
new  computations  for  the  coming  of  Christ.  In  all,  they  amount 
to  about  two  hundred  thousand  people. 

More  famous,  or  perhaps  more  notorious,  are  the  Mormons. 
Their  first  prophet,  Joseph  Smith,  began  in  1823,  when  he  was 
eighteen  years  of  age,  to  have  dreams  in  which  he  was  intrusted 
with  a  religious  mission.  Four  years  later,  with  the  help  of  certain 
persons  of  his  dreams,  he  "discovered"  the  Book  of  Mormon  —  a 
set  of  metal  tablets  on  which  the  history  of  America  was  written  in 
"reformed  Egyptian"  characters.  The  first  American  colony  had 
been  organized,  according  to  the  Book  of  Mormon,  by  a  race  of 
people  which  had  helped  to  build  the  Tower  of  Babel,  and  which 
in  600  B.C.  had  settled  in  South  America.  The  American  In- 
dians, the  book  says,  descend  from  this  race;  and  Christ  also,  it 
says,  was  for  a  time  in  America.  Finally,  an  angel  came  who  ap- 
pointed Smith  and  a  friend  of  his  as  priests,  and  they  then  began 
the  regular  formation  of  a  church.  Miracles  were  rumoured;  mis- 
sionaries were  sent  out  and  congregations  formed  in  several  states, 
even  before  polygamy  was  ordained.  In  1843  Smith  received  the 
inspired  message  which  proclaimed  the  new  ordinance  of  "heav- 
enly marriage. "  In  the  following  year  Smith  was  murdered,  and 
his  successor,  Brigham  Young,  when  hostile  demonstrations  be- 
came frequent,  led  the  group  of  believers  on  a  bold  expedition  into 
what  was  at  that  time  the  almost  impassable  West  —  to  Utah,  on 
the  Great  Salt  Lake. 

The  settlement  grew,  and  under  its  rigorously  theocratic  govern- 
ment made  remarkable  economic  progress.  A  large  garden  was 
planted  in  the  wilderness,  and  Salt  Lake  City  is  to-day  a  large, 
modern  town  on  the  railroad  line  to  California,  and  the  Mormons 
compose  only  half  its  population.  But  they  alone  and  under  ter- 


$i6  THE  AMERICANS 

rific  difficulties  carried  civilization  across  the  prairies,  and  as  a 
token  of  their  industry  the  largest  church  in  America  stands  there, 
the  Mormon  Temple,  which  they  built  by  forty  years  of  labour,  ex- 
actly according  to  the  plans  which  Young  saw  in  a  vision.  While 
people  are  readily  admitted  to  the  curious  hall  of  prayer,  no 
strangers  are  allowed  to  enter  the  Temple.  Polygamy  was  intro- 
duced, undoubtedly,  from  no  immoral  motives,  but  from  the  relig- 
ious belief  that  an  unmarried  woman  will  not  go  to  heaven.  Eco- 
nomic motives  may  have  helped  the  matter  along,  since  the  priests 
permitted  new  marriages  only  when  the  contracting  parties  had 
sufficient  means  to  support  several  families,  and  so  used  the  satis- 
faction of  polygamous  instincts  as  a  reward  for  unusual  economic 
industry. 

The  stern  morality  of  the  American  people  has  always  looked 
on  the  Mormon  tribe  as  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  and  yet  it  was  difficult 
for  a  long  time  for  the  federal  government  to  suppress  the  abuse. 
Serious  opposition  began  in  the  early  eighties  with  the  passing  of 
special  laws;  thousands  of  Mormons  were  put  in  prison,  and  mil- 
lions of  dollars  were  paid  in  fines.  The  Mormons  fought  with 
every  legal  means,  but  were  repudiated  by  the  Supreme  Court,  and 
finally  gave  in.  In  the  year  1890  their  president,  Woodruff,  pub- 
lished an  ordinance  forbidding  new  polygamous  marriages.  This 
has  not  prevented  the  Mormons  from  holding  polygamy  sacred, 
and  they  have  abandoned  it  only  on  compulsion.  The  marriages 
which  were  solemnized  before  1890  are  still  in  force.  Such  polyg- 
amous families  do  not  impress  a  stranger  unfavourably,  since,  in 
spite  of  its  complexity,  their  family  life  appears  to  be  a  happy  one. 
From  Utah  the  sect  has  spread  to  Idaho  and  other  Western  States, 
and  embraces  now  perhaps  half  a  million  people. 

There  have  been  some  other  curious  religious  congregations 
with  unusual  marriage  ordinances.  For  instance,  the  Oneida 
Community  has  had  an  apparently  most  immoral  form  of  cohabi- 
tation. It  is  here  a  question  not  so  much  of  religion  as  of  a  com- 
munistic and  economic  experiment.  Such  experiments  are,  for  the 
most  part,  short-lived  and  flourish  secretly.  Celibacy  is  practised 
by  fifteen  communities  of  Shakers,  who  live  in  a  communistic  way. 
They  broke  away  from  the  Quakers  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  have  unique  religious  ideas.  God,  and,  therefore, 
every  human  soul,  is  thought  to  be  a  double  principle,  both  male 


RELIGION  5/7 

and  female.  The  male  principle  was  revealed  in  Christ,  the 
female  in  an  English  woman,  Anne  Lee,  a  Quakeress  whose  visions 
during  imprisonment  occasioned  the  formation  of  this  sect. 

The  Shakers  were  so  called  because  they  are  "shaken"  by  re- 
ligious fervour;  and  the  lower  classes  of  the  American  populace  are 
uncommonly  predisposed  to  this  ecstatic  and  hysterical  religious 
excitement.  General  revivals,  great  camp-meetings,  and  hyster- 
ical and  tumultuous  meetings  of  prayer,  with  theatrical  conver- 
sions and  divine  illuminations,  have  always  played  a  prominent 
role  in  America.  Thus  at  the  end  of  the  fifties,  after  a  time  of 
declining  piety,  a  wave  of  religious  conversion  swept  over  the 
country,  having  all  the  appearance  of  a  nervous  epidemic.  The 
doings  of  the  rapidly  growing  Salvation  Army  also  often  have  a 
somewhat  neurotic  character. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  why  this  is  so.  As  in  every  form  of  hysteria, 
suggestion  is,  of  course,  an  important  factor;  but  the  manifesta- 
tions are  so  marked  that  there  must  be  some  special  disposition 
thereto.  It  almost  seems  as  if  a  lack  of  other  stimulants  produced 
a  pathological  demand  for  religious  excitement.  Certainly  in 
those  portions  of  the  country  which  are  most  affected,  the  life  of 
the  great  masses,  at  least  until  recently,  has  been  colourless  and 
dull.  There  has  been  no  stimulation  of  the  fancy,  such  as  is 
afforded  by  the  Catholic  Church,  or  in  former  days  was  provided 
by  the  romantic  events  of  monarchical  history.  People  have 
lacked  the  stimulation  of  amusements,  festivals,  the  theatre  and 
music;  daily  life  has  been  hard,  morality  rigorous,  and  alcohol  was 
thought  sinful.  Where  religion  has  been  the  single  intellectual 
stimulus,  it  has  become  an  intoxicant  for  the  pining  soul:  and 
persons  drank  until  they  obtained  a  sort  of  hysterical  relief  from 
deadly  reality. 

The  seeds  of  mysticism  easily  take  root  on  such  a  soil,  and  it  is 
no  accident  that  the  chief  mystical  movements  of  our  times  have 
gone  on  in  America,  the  country  which  so  many  suppose  to  be  the 
theatre  of  purely  material  interests.  Here  we  find,  first  of  all,  the 
Spiritualistic  movement  which  began  in  1848,  when  mysterious 
knockings  were  heard  by  the  Fox  family  in  a  village  of  New  York 
State.  The  sounds  were  interpreted  as  messages  from  dead 
friends,  and  as  soon  as  these  spirits  commenced  their  material 
manifestations  it  was  only  a  short  step  for  them  to  appear  in  per- 


5i8  THE  AMERICANS 

son.  The  leading  card  of  Spiritualism  is  its  supposed  proof  of  life 
after  death,  and  all  its  other  features  are  secondary. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  natural  for  a  teaching  which  depends  on 
such  mysterious  phenomena  to  turn  its  interest  to  other  suppos- 
ably  unexplained  phenomena,  and  therewith  to  become  a  general 
rallying-ground  for  mysticism.  Although  the  Spiritualistic  Church 
has  about  fifty  thousand  members,  these  are  by  no  means  all  of 
the  actual  Spiritualists  in  America.  Indeed,  if  Spiritualism  were 
to  be  taken  in  a  broader  sense,  including  a  belief  in  telepathic 
influences,  mysterious  communications,  etc.,  the  number  of  be- 
lievers would  mount  into  the  millions,  with  some  adherents  in  the 
most  highly  educated  circles.  Even  in  enlightened  Boston  a  Spir- 
itualistic church  stands  in  the  best  section  of  the  town.  Its  ser- 
vices have  been  grievously  exposed  from  time  to  time,  but  the 
deceptions  have  been  quickly  forgotten,  and  this  successful  "re- 
ligious "  enterprise  is  once  more  given  credence.  A  short  time  ago, 
in  Philadelphia,  the  spirit  of  Darwin  was  constrained  to  write  a 
pious  final  contribution  to  his  works  for  the  benefit  of  a  well- 
paying  audience,  on  a  typewriter  which  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  which,  of  course,  could  be  easily  operated  electrically 
from  some  other  room. 

To  be  sure,  it  would  be  unfair  to  say  that  all  spiritualism  is  based 
on  deception,  although  the  lively  wish  to  see  dead  relatives,  or 
receive  communications  from  them,  puts  a  high  premium  on  the 
pious  fraud.  Indeed,  it  would  be  over-hasty  to  say  that  all  the 
spiritualistic  conceptions  go  against  the  laws  of  nature;  for,  since 
the  philosophy  of  Spiritualism  has  conceived  of  an  ether  organism 
which  pervades  the  molecular  body  and  survives  death,  it  has 
fairly  cleverly  met  the  demands  of  casual  explanation.  And  it  may 
well  be  thought  probable  that  in  the  world  of  mental  influences 
there  is  much  remaining  to  be  found  out,  just  as  a  hundred  years 
ago  there  were  hypnotism  and  Rontgen  rays;  so  that  the  zeal  of 
very  many  people  to  assist  in  the  solving  of  these  mysteries  is,  per- 
haps, easily  understood. 

But  just  where  these  most  serious  motives  prevail  and  all  idea  of 
conscious  deception  is  excluded,  one  sees  the  profound  affiliation 
of  intellectual  interests  with  the  mystical  tendency.  Even  the 
Society  for  Psychical  Research,  which  aims  to  investigate  mys- 
terious phenomena  in  a  thoroughly  scientific  way,  has,  after  all, 


RELIGION  519 

mostly  held  the  interest  of  men  who  are  more  inclined  to  mys- 
ticism than  to  science.  Mrs.  Piper,  of  Arlington,  may  be  called  the 
most  important  spiritualistic  medium,  and  Hodgson  her  most  in- 
teresting prophet.  The  whole  movement  is,  after  all,  religious. 
Spiritualism  has  a  near  neighbour  in  Theosophy,  which  is  specially 
strong  in  California.  The  great  literary  charm  of  Hindu  philos- 
ophy makes  this  form  of  mysticism  more  attractive  to  minds  that 
are  repelled  by  its  vulgar  forms.  Hindu  mysticism  has,  undoubt- 
edly, a  future  in  America. 

There  is  a  still  larger  circle  of  people  who  believe  in  Christian 
Science,  the  discovery  of  Mary  Baker  G.  Eddy.  When  Mrs.  Eddy 
suffered  a  severe  illness  at  Lynn  in  1867,  she  was  seized  by  the  idea 
that  all  illness  might  be  only  an  illusion  or  hallucination  of  the 
soul,  since  God  alone  is  real,  and  in  Him  there  can  be  naught 
but  good.  It  was  therefore  necessary  only  to  realize  this  decep- 
tive unreality,  in  order  to  relieve  the  soul  of  its  error  and  so  to  re- 
gain health.  She  herself  became  well  and  proceeded  to  read  her 
principle  of  mental  healing  into  the  Bible,  and  so  to  develop  a  meta- 
physical system.  She  commenced  her  work  of  healing  without 
medicine,  and  in  1875  published  her  book,  "Science  and  Health, 
With  a  Key  to  the  Holy  Scriptures. "  The  book  is  a  medium-sized 
work,  has  a  system  not  unskilfully  constructed,  although  unskil- 
fully expressed,  and  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  history  of  phi- 
losophy will  find  in  it  not  one  original  thought.  In  spite  of  this,  the 
book  must  be  called  one  of  the  most  successful  of  modern  times. 
It  is  a  rather  expensive  book,  but  has  been  bought  by  the  hundreds 
of  thousands.  Congregations  have  formed  all  over  the  country, 
and  built  some  magnificent  churches;  and,  finally,  the  infectious 
bacillus  of  this  social  malady  has  been  wafted  across  the  ocean. 
The  great  feature  of  this  new  sect  is  its  practice  of  healing;  there 
are  to-day  some  thirty  institutions  giving  instruction  in  the  art  of 
metaphysical  healing,  and  the  public  supports  thousands  of  spir- 
itual healers. 

The  movement  is  benefited  by  the  general  mistrust  of  academic 
medicine  which  pervades  the  lower  classes  of  America,  as  may  be 
seen  from  the  ridiculous  popularity  of  patent  medicines.  The 
cult  is  also  undoubtedly  helped  by  actual  and  often  surprising 
cures.  The  healing  power  of  faith  is  no  new  discovery;  the 
effects  of  auto-suggestion  are  always  important  in  nervous  dis- 


520  THE  AMERICANS 

orders,  and  there  are  indeed  few  pathological  conditions  in  which 
nervous  disorders  do  not  play  a  part.  Mrs.  Eddy's  disciples,  in  their 
consultation  offices,  do  with  the  help  of  the  inner  consistency  of 
their  metaphysical  system,  which  the  logic  of  the  average  patient 
cannot  break  down,  what  Catholicism  does  at  Lourdes  by  stimu- 
lating the  imagination.  The  main  support  of  Christian  Science 
is,  after  all,  the  general  mystical  and  religious  disposition.  Where 
religion  plays  such  a  mighty  role  in  the  popular  mind,  religious 
vagaries  and  perversions  must  be  the  order  of  the  day;  but  even  the 
perversions  show  how  thoroughly  the  whole  American  people  is 
pervaded  by  the  religious  spirit. 

Not  only  would  it  be  unfair  to  estimate  the  religion  of  America 
by  its  perversions,  but  even  if  the  religious  life  of  the  country  were 
amply  described  in  the  many  forms  of  its  conservative  congrega- 
tions and  confessions,  the  most  important  thing  would  be  still  un- 
mentioned :  the  spirit  of  moral  self-perfection  common  to  all  the 
religions  of  the  country.  To  be  sure,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
all  the  morality  in  this  nation  is  of  religious  origin.  One  sees 
clearly  that  this  is  not  the  case  if  one  looks  at  American  social 
ethics,  which  are  independent  of  religious  ethics,  and  if  one  notices 
how  often  motives  from  the  two  spheres  unite  in  bringing  about 
certain  actions.  The  Americans  would  have  developed  a  marked 
morality  if  they  had  not  been  brought  up  in  church;  but  the 
church  has  co-operated,  specially  when  the  nation  was  young  and 
when  far-reaching  impulses  were  being  developed.  And  while 
the  forms  of  faith  have  changed,  the  moral  ideas  have  remained 
much  the  same. 

Benjamin  Wadsworth  was  president  of  Harvard  College  in  the 
beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  no  greater  religious  con- 
trast could  be  found  than  that  between  him  and  his  present  succes- 
sor in  office;  between  the  orthodox  Calvin ist  who  said  that  it  is 
by  God's  unmerited  grace  that  we  are  not  all  burning  in  the  flames 
of  hell,  as  our  sins  so  richly  deserve,  and  the  liberal  Unitarian  of 
to-day.  And  yet  President  Eliot  could  rightly  say  that,  even  after 
these  two  hundred  years,  he  gladly  subscribes  to  all  the  moral 
tenets  of  his  early  predecessor.  Wadsworth  exhorted  parents  to 
teach  their  sons  to  live  soberly,  virtuously,  and  in  the  fear  of  God; 
to  keep  them  from  idleness,  pride,  envy,  and  malice;  to  teach  them 
simple,  kindly,  and  courteous  behaviour;  to  see  that  they  learn  to 


RELIGION  521 

be  useful  in  the  world,  and  so  marry  and  carry  on  their  daily 
business  as  to  avoid  temptation  and  to  grow  in  grace  and  in  the 
fear  of  God. 

Benjamin  Franklin's  catalogue  of  virtues  which  he  desired  to 
realize  in  himself,  was:  temperance,  silence,  order,  simplicity,  in- 
dustry, honesty,  justice,  self-restraint,  purity,  peacefulness,  con- 
tinence, and  modesty.  In  this  he  was  not  thinking  of  the  church, 
but  his  worldly  morals  came  to  much  the  same  thing  as  the 
Puritan's  ethics.  The  goal  is  everywhere  moral  self-perfection  —  to 
learn,  first  of  all,  to  govern  one's  natural  desires,  not  for  the  sake  of 
the  effect  on  others,  but  for  the  effect  on  one's  self.  To  put  it  ex- 
tremely, the  religious  admonition  might  have  read:  Give,  not 
that  your  neighbour  may  have  more,  but  that  you  may  have  less; 
not  in  order  to  give  your  neighbour  pleasure,  but  to  discipline  your- 
self in  overcoming  greed.  The  social  morality  developed  the 
opposite  motives;  and  even  to-day  the  joining  of  both  tendencies 
may  be  followed  everywhere,  and  especially  in  many  philanthropic 
deeds.  The  two  extremes  go  together:  social  enthusiasm  for  being 
helpful,  and  the  fundamentally  religious  instinct  to  give  alms. 

Within  the  circle  of  ecclesiastical  influences,  moral  concern  for 
the  self  is  everywhere  in  great  evidence  —  the  desire  to  be  sober, 
temperate,  industrious,  modest,  and  God-fearing.  It  has  been 
said  that  these  centuries  of  self-mastery  are  the  cause  of  America's 
final  triumph.  Too  many  other  factors  are  there  left  out  of  ac- 
count, but  undoubtedly  the  theocratic  discipline  which  held  back 
all  immoderation  and  indulgence,  and  often  intolerantly  extin- 
guished the  lower  instincts,  has  profoundly  influenced  national  life. 
And  to  this  all  churches  have  contributed  alike.  It  seems  as  if 
the  Calvinistic  God  of  severity  had  been  complemented  by  a  God 
of  love;  but  practically  all  churches  have  worked  as  if  it  was  nec- 
essary, first  of  all,  to  improve  radically  evil  men,  to  convert  evil- 
doers, and  to  uproot  natural  instincts.  The  American  church  is 
to-day  what  it  has  always  been,  whether  in  or  outside  of  Calvinism, 
a  church  militant,  strong  in  its  battle  against  unrighteous  desires. 
To  be  churchly  means  to  be  in  the  battle-camp  of  a  party;  in  the 
camp  itself  they  make  merry,  but  every  one  is  armed  against  the 
enemy. 

The  final  result  in  the  great  masses  of  people  is  an  uncommonly 
high  degree  of  personal  purity  as  compared  with  the  masses  of 


522  THE  AMERICANS 

Europe.  Here  one  is  not  to  think  of  the  slums  of  large  cities  nor 
of  the  masses  of  still  un-Americanized  immigrants  from  Southern 
Europe,  nor  of  those  people  who  are  under  the  influence  of  tem- 
porary abnormal  conditions,  such  as  the  adventurers  who  flock 
together  wherever  gold  and  silver  are  discovered.  One  must  look 
at  the  people  in  the  fields  and  the  work-shops,  in  the  country  and 
the  small  city,  or  at  the  average  citizen  of  the  large  city,  and  one 
will  get  from  these  bustling  millions  an  impression  of  moral  earn- 
estness, simplicity,  and  purity.  These  people  are  poor  in  im- 
agination and  vulgar;  and  yet  one  feels  that,  in  the  humble  home 
where  the  average  man  has  probably  grown  up,  the  family  Bible 
lay  on  the  table.  It  is  not  accidental  that  the  zealous  Puritans 
of  Colonial  times  believed  not  only  that  man  is  preserved  from  hell- 
fire  by  the  special  grace  of  God,  but  also  that  the  colonists  were  a 
chosen  people  and  favoured  by  God  with  a  remarkably  large  pro- 
portion who  enjoyed  His  grace.  They  saw  a  moral  rigour  every- 
where around  them,  and  could  not  suppose  that  such  Puritan 
living  was  the  path  to  everlasting  torment.  Since  then  life  has 
become  endlessly  complicated,  the  pressure  of  circumstances  has 
increased,  temptations  are  a  thousandfold  more  numerous,  and 
consequently  the  general  level  of  morality  has  shifted.  Much  is 
to-day  called  harmless  which  was  then  called  sinful;  but  to-day, 
as  then,  the  number  of  those  who  live  above  the  general  level 
of  moral  requirements  is  astonishingly  large. 

As  everywhere  in  the  world,  so  in  America;  temptation  and  dis- 
tress fill  the  prisons  with  unfortunate  and  mistaken  human  beings. 
But  this  fact  belongs  in  a  wholly  different  social  connection.  We 
are  thinking  here  of  the  life  of  those  who  are  not  amenable  to  law; 
for  intemperance,  envy,  incontinence,  coarseness,  servility,  brutal- 
ity, lack  of  character  and  kindness,  and  vulgarity  are,  in  them- 
selves, not  punishable.  If  we  speak  of  those  who  are  thus  within 
the  law,  we  find  that  life  in  America  is  purer,  simpler,  and  more 
moral  than  in  Europe.  And  the  average  American  who  lives  for 
some  time  on  the  Continent  of  Europe  comes  home  dismayed  at  the 
exaggerated  and  specious  politeness  of  Europe  and  rejoiced  at  the 
greater  humanity  of  the  Americans.  The  incontinence  of  France, 
the  intemperance  of  Germany,  the  business  dishonesty  of  Southern 
Europe,  are  favourite  examples  in  America  of  European  lack  of 
virtue;  and  aside  from  all  local  differences,  the  Americans  believe 


RELIGION  523 

that  they  find  everywhere  in  Europe  the  symptoms  of  moral  de- 
cadence and  laxity,  and  on  finding  the  same  things  in  large 
American  cities,  they  put  the  blame  on  Europe. 

At  first  sight  it  looks  as  if  one  who  lives  in  a  glass  house  were 
throwing  stones.  The  foreigner,  on  hearing  of  American  Sabbath 
observance,  piety,  temperance,  continence,  benevolence,  and  hon- 
esty, is  at  once  inclined  to  call  up  the  other  side  of  the  situation : 
he  has  seen  cases  of  hypocrisy,  he  knows  how  many  divorces  and 
bank  robberies  there  are;  he  has  heard  about  benevolence  from 
purely  selfish  motives,  and  about  corruption. 

All  this  is  true,  and,  nevertheless,  false.  On  examining  the  situ- 
ation more  closely,  the  foreigner  will  see  that  however  many  sins 
there  are,  the  life  of  the  people  is  intrinsically  pure  and  moral  and 
devout.  It  is  true  that  there  are  many  divorces,  and  that  these  are 
made  extremely  easy  in  some  states;  but  infidelity  is  seldom  the 
motive.  The  cause  lies  in  the  democratic  spirit  of  self-determina- 
tion, which  wants  to  loosen  bonds  that  individuals  no  longer  freely 
recognize.  It  might  be  said  that  this  is  a  higher  individual  mor- 
ality which  ends  marriage  when  it  has  lost  its  inner  sanctity.  The 
American  divorce  does  not  indicate  any  lack  of  marriage  fidelity; 
married  life  is,  throughout  the  nation,  distinctly  purer  than  it  is  in 
Europe,  and  this  is  still  more  true  of  the  life  of  young  men.  To  be 
sure,  it  is  easy  to  get  material  for  piquant  booklets,  as  "From 
Darkest  America, "  and  there  is  very  much  vice  in  Chicago,  New 
Orleans,  and  San  Francisco.  The  American  is  no  saint,  and  a  large 
city  is  a  large  city  the  world  over.  But  undoubtedly  the  sexual 
tension  is  incomparably  less  in  American  life  than  in  European,  as 
may  be  seen  by  comparing  the  life  of  American  students  with  that 
of  German  students  of  the  same  age.  This  is  not  due  to  deficient 
romantic  feeling,  for  there  is  nowhere  more  flirting  going  on  than  in 
America ;  but  a  genuine  respect  of  womanhood,  without  regard 
to  social  class,  lends  purity  to  the  life  of  the  men. 

It  is  true  that  American  temperance  does  not  prevent  some  men 
from  drinking  too  much,  and  the  regular  prohibition  laws  of  many 
of  the  states  have  not  succeeded  in  suppressing  a  desire  for  physio- 
logical stimulation;  and  it  may  be  even  affirmed  that  the  legal 
interdiction  of  the  sale  of  alcohol  in  states  or  communities,  unless 
an  overwhelming  majority  of  the  population  believes  in  abstinence, 
has  done  more  harm  than  good.  But  it  is  clear  that  the  fight 


524.  THE  AMERICANS 

against  alcohol  which  has  been  carried  on  for  a  hundred  years,  and 
notably  by  the  church,  has  done  an  infinite  amount  of  good.  The 
whole  nation  is  strongly  set  against  tippling,  and  only  the  dregs  of 
society  gather  in  the  saloons.  And  much  more  has  been  done  by 
moral  than  by  legislative  influence  to  suppress  the  unhappy  licen- 
tious and  criminal  consequences  of  drink  among  the  lower  classes; 
and  among  higher  classes  the  deadening  intellectual  influence  of 
sitting  in  beer-houses  and  so  wasting  strength,  time,  and  moral 
vigour,  is  almost  unknown.  In  good  society  one  does  not  drink  in 
the  presence  of  ladies  except  at  dinner,  and  the  total  abstainer 
becomes  thereby  no  more  conspicuous  than  the  man  in  Germany 
who  will  not  smoke  ;  and  those  who  drink  at  table  are  content  with 
very  little.  Evening  table  gatherings,  such  as  the  German  Kom- 
merse,  are  accounted  incorrect,  and  drunkenness  is  dishonourable. 
These  ideas  are  making  their  way  among  the  lower  classes;  rail- 
way companies  and  other  corporations  have  not  the  least  difficulty 
in  employing  only  temperance  men.  The  temperance  movement, 
in  spite  of  its  mistakes  and  exaggerations,  and  aside  from  its  great 
benefit  to  the  health  of  the  social  organism,  represents  a  splendid 
advance  in  moral  self-control.  A  nation  which  accounts  as  im- 
moral all  indulgence  in  alcohol  that  interferes  with  self-control  has 
made  thereby  a  tremendous  ethical  advance. 

It  would  be  still  easier  to  expose  the  caricatures  which  are  pub- 
lished relative  to  Sabbath  observance.  One  may  say  it  is  hypocriti- 
cal for  the  law  to  forbid  theatrical  performances  on  Sunday  for 
which  the  scenes  are  changed  and  the  curtain  dropped,  but  to  al- 
low several  New  York  theatres  to  perform  the  cheapest  vaudeville 
without  curtain  and  without  a  change  of  scenes.  But  the  fact  is 
merely  that  the  heavy  immigration  from  Europe  has  brought 
about  conditions  in  the  metropolis  which  do  not  accord  with  the 
ideas  of  the  rural  majority  in  the  state.  In  Boston  no  one 
would  think  of  evading  such  a  law,  because  the  theatres  would 
remain  empty;  where  the  attempt  has  been  made  to  keep  large 
exhibitions  open  on  Sunday,  it  has  been  unsuccessful. 

The  American  people  still  cling  to  a  quiet  Sabbath  observance, 
and  the  day  of  rest  and  meditation  is  a  national  institution.  No 
law  and  no  scruples  forbid  the  railway  companies  to  run  more 
trains  on  Sunday  than  on  other  days,  as  they  do  in  Germany;  but 
instead  of  this  there  are  fewer  railway  trains,  and  these  are  poorly 


RELIGION  525 

patronized.  People  do  not  travel  on  Sunday,  even  if  they  no 
longer  visit  the  grave-yard,  which  was  the  Puritan  idea  of  a  permis- 
sible Sunday  stroll.  Concessions  are  more  and  more  made  to  Sun- 
day amusements,  it  is  true;  golf  is  played  on  Sunday  in  many 
places,  and  in  contrast  to  England  the  Sunday  newspapers  have 
become  so  voluminous  that  if  one  read  their  fifty  or  sixty  pages 
through,  one  would  not  have  time  to  go  to  church.  But  in  the 
main  the  entire  American-born  population,  without  constraint  and 
therefore  without  hypocrisy,  observes  Sunday  as  a  day  of  self- 
abnegation;  and  even  many  men  who  are  not  abstainers  during 
the  week  drink  no  wine  on  Sunday. 

The  masses  of  the  people  are  to  a  high  degree  truthful  and  hon- 
ourable. It  has  been  well  said  that  the  American  has  no  talent  for 
lying,  and  mistrust  of  a  man's  word  strikes  the  Yankee  as  specifically 
European.  From  the  street  urchin  to  the  minister  of  state,  frank- 
ness is  the  predominant  trait;  and  all  institutions  are  arranged 
for  a  thorough-going  and  often  exaggerated  confidence.  We  have 
shown  before  that  in  the  means  of  conveyance,  such  as  street  cars, 
the  honesty  of  the  public  is  not  watched,  that  in  the  country  the 
farm-house  door  is  hardly  locked,  and  that  the  most  important 
mercantile  agreements  are  concluded  by  a  word  of  mouth  or  nod  of 
the  head.  There  are  scoundrels  who  abuse  all  this,  who  swindle  the 
street-car  companies  and  circulate  false  checks;  but  the  present 
customs  could  never  have  arisen  if  the  general  public  had  not  jus- 
tified this  blind  confidence.  It  is  true  that  many  a  bank  cashier 
robs  the  treasury;  but  it  is  much  more  characteristic  to  see  a  news- 
paper boy,  when  one  gives  him  five  cents  by  mistake,  run  after  one 
in  order  to  return  the  right  amount.  It  is  true  that  many  an  Irish 
politician  has  entered  politics  in  order  to  steal  from  the  public 
funds,  but  it  is  a  more  characteristic  fact  that  everywhere  letters 
too  large  to  go  in  the  letter-box  are  laid  on  top  of  it  in  the  confi- 
dence that  they  will  not  be  stolen.  A  school-boy  who  lies  to  the 
teacher  often  has,  in  Europe,  the  sympathy  of  the  whole  class,  but 
not  in  America;  children  despise  a  lie,  and  in  this  sense  the  true 
American  remains  a  child  through  life. 

As  the  American  education  makes  for  honesty,  so  it  does  for 
self-sacrifice,  which  is  the  finest  result  of  the  Puritan  idea  of  self- 
perfection.  The  ascetic  sacrifice  for  the  mere  sake  of  sacrifice 
goes  against  the  American  love  of  activity,  although  if  the  many 


526  THE  AMERICANS 

New  England  popular  tales  are  really  taken  from  life,  even  this 
way  of  pleasing  God  is  not  uncommon  in  the  North-Eastern  States. 
But  all  classes  of  the  population  are  willing  to  make  sacrifices  for  an 
end,  however  abstract  and  impersonal.  The  spirit  of  sacrifice  is 
not  genuine  when  it  parades  itself  before  the  public;  it  works  in 
secret.  But  anybody  who  watches  what  goes  on  quietly,  who  notes 
the  life  of  the  teacher,  the  minister,  and  the  physician  in  all  coun- 
try districts,  who  sees  how  parents  sometimes  suffer  in  order  to  give 
their  children  a  better  education  than  they  themselves  had,  will  be 
surprised  at  the  infinite  and  patient  sacrifices  which  are  daily  made 
by  hard-working  people.  The  spirit  of  quiet  forbearance,  so  little 
noticeable  on  the  surface,  is  clear  to  every  one  who  looks  some- 
what deeply  into  American  life. 

Thus  the  more  dangerous  forms  of  missionary  activity  have 
always  attracted  Americans;  and  nowhere  else  has  the  nurse's 
profession,  which  requires  so  much  patience,  attracted  so  many 
women.  All  the  world  knows  the  sacrificing  spirit  which  was 
shown  during  the  war  against  slavery,  and  there  is  no  less  of  that 
spirit  in  times  of  peace.  Every  day  one  observes  the  readiness  of 
men  to  risk  their  own  lives  in  order  to  save  those  of  others;  and 
one  is  surprised  to  see  that  the  public  understands  this  as  a  matter 
of  course.  The  more  modest  and  naturally  more  frequent  form  of 
self-sacrifice  consists  in  giving  of  one's  own  possessions,  whether  a 
small  sum  to  the  contribution-box  of  the  Salvation  Army,  or  a  pres- 
ent of  millions  to  benevolent  institutions.  It  is  true  that  private 
benefactions  are  open  to  interpretation;  sometimes  they  are  made 
for  the  sake  of  social  recognition,  more  often  they  are  merely 
superficial,  inconsiderate,  or  ill-timed,  and  therefore  they  are  often 
detrimental  to  the  community.  But  after  all  allowances,  the 
volume  of  contributions  to  all  benevolent  purposes  is  simply 
astonishing;  and  here,  too,  the  historical  development  shows  that 
of  all  motives  the  religious  has  been  the  strongest. 

Yet  in  all  these  movements  the  religious  motive,  the  soul's  sal- 
vation, has  been  only  one  among  other  influences  that  are  rather 
social.  American  philanthropy  is  perhaps  more  often  religiously 
coloured  than  it  is  in  Germany;  but  the  more  benefaction  comes  to 
be  in  the  hands  of  organizations  with  a  trained  administration,  the 
more  the  social  and  economic  factors  appear.  In  the  same  way, 
Sunday  observance  and  temperance  have  come  to  be  social 


RELIGION  527 

problems  which  are  almost  distinct  from  ecclesiastical  considera- 
tions; and  if  the  American  is  honest,  upright,  and  pure,  he  himself 
scarcely  knows  to-day  whether  he  is  so  as  a  Christian  or  as  a 
gentleman.  Questions  of  morality  point  everywhere  from  religious 
to  social  considerations. 


PART  FOUR 
SOCIAL  LIFE 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

The  Spirit  of  Self- Assertion 

ON  landing  in  New  York,  the  European  expects  new  im- 
pressions and  surprises —  most  of  all,  from  the  evidences  of 
general  equality  in  this  New  World.  Some  have  heard,  with 
misgivings,  of  the  horrors  of  upstart  equality;  but  more  look  with 
glad  expectancy  on  the  country  where  no  traditions  of  caste  im- 
pose distinctions  between  human  beings,  and  where  the  Declara- 
ration  of  Independence  has  solemnly  recognized  as  a  fundamental 
truth  that  all  men  are  born  free  and  equal.  Those  who  fear  the 
equality  are  generally  soon  put  at  ease.  They  find  that  social 
classes,  even  in  New  York,  are  nicely  distinguished;  no  work- 
stained  overalls  are  found  where  a  frock  coat  is  in  order.  The 
other  travellers  are  just  as  quickly  disillusioned  in  their  hopes  of 
equality.  It  is  a  short  distance  from  the  luxury  of  Fifth  Avenue  to 
miserable  tenement  districts;  —  an  abrupt  social  contrast,  in  all 
its  Old  World  sharpness  and  hardness. 

If  the  newcomer,  then,  in  his  surprise  turns  to  those  who  know 
the  country,  his  questions  will  be  differently  answered  by  different 
persons.  The  average  citizen  will  try  to  save  the  reputation  of 
equality.  No  doubt,  he  says,  equality  rules  in  America  —  equality 
before  the  law,  and  equality  of  political  rights.  And  such  average 
patriot  would  be  surprised  to  hear  that  this  sort  of  equality  is 
found  in  Europe  also.  But  perhaps  our  new-comer  chances  on 
a  mind  of  less  typical  habit.  This  one  may  reply,  with  the  in- 
comparably sly  wink  of  the  thoughtful  American,  that  there  is  no 
more  equality  in  America  than  in  Europe.  We  indulge  in  such 
glittering  generalities  in  our  Declaration  of  Independence,  to  give 
our  good  local  politicians  a  congenial  theme  on  public  holidays, 
and  so  that  badly  paid  shop  clerks  may  solace  themselves  with 
such  brave  assertions  as  a  compensation  for  their  small  pay.  But 


532  THE  AMERICANS 

we  are  not  so  foolish  as  to  run  amuck  of  nature,  which  after  all 
has  very  wisely  made  men  unlike  one  another. 

But  both  replies  are  in  a  way  false,  or,  at  least,  do  not  touch  the 
root  of  the  matter.  It  is  undeniable  that  one  can  no  longer  speak 
of  an  equality  of  wealth  or  means  of  enjoyment,  or  even,  in  spite 
of  occasional  modest  claims  to  the  contrary,  of  an  equal  oppor- 
tunity for  education  and  development.  In  spite  of  this,  it  is  a  mis- 
take to  suppose  that  on  this  account  the  spirit  of  equality  is  found 
only  in  judicial  and  political  spheres.  There  is  another,  a  social 
equality,  of  which  most  Americans  are  not  conscious,  because  they 
do  not  know  and  can  hardly  imagine  what  life  would  be  without 
such  equality;  they  do  not  meditate  on  social  equality,  because, 
unlike  political  or  legal  equality,  it  is  not  abstractly  formulative. 
The  American  is  first  aware  of  it  after  living  some  time  in  Europe, 
and  the  European  grasps  the  idea  only  after  a  serious  study  of 
American  life. 

The  social  sentiment  of  equality,  although  variously  tinged  yet 
virtually  the  same  throughout  the  United  States,  in  nowise  mili- 
tates against  social  distinctions  which  result  from  difference  of 
education,  wealth,  occupation,  and  achievement.  But  it  does  de- 
mand that  all  these  different  distinctions  shall  be  considered  exter- 
nal to  the  real  personality.  Fundamentally,  all  Americans  are 
equal.  The  statement  must  not  be  misunderstood.  It  by  no 
means  coincides  with  the  religious  distinction  that  men  are  equal 
in  the  eyes  of  God,  and  it  is  not  to  be  associated  with  any  ethical 
ideas  of  life.  Equality  before  God,  and  the  equal  worth  of 
a  moral  act,  whether  done  by  the  greatest  or  the  humblest  of  God's 
children,  are  not  social  conceptions;  they  are  significant  only  in 
religious,  and  not  in  social,  life.  And  these  two  spheres  can  every- 
where be  separated.  It  can  even  be  said  that,  as  profoundly  as 
religion  pervades  every-day  life  in  America,  the  characteristic  prin- 
ciple of  equality  in  the  social  community  is  wholly  independent 
of  the  ethics  of  the  New  Testament. 

It  is  still  less  a  metaphysical  conception.  The  American  popu- 
lar mind  does  not  at  all  sympathize  with  the  philosophical  idea 
that  individuality  is  only  an  appearance,  and  that  we  are  all  funda- 
mentally one  being.  The  American  thinks  pluralistically,  and 
brings  to  his  metaphysics  a  firm  belief  in  the  absolute  significance 
of  the  individual.  And  finally,  the  American  principle  of  equality 


SELF-ASSERTION  533 

which  we  wish  to  grasp  is  not  rationally  humanitarian;  whether 
all  human  beings  are  really  equal  is  left  out  of  account.  It  is 
a  question  actually  of  this  one  social  community  living  together 
in  the  United  States  and  having  to  regulate  its  social  affairs. 

Let  us  suppose  that  a  group  of  similarly  employed  good  friends 
were  on  an  excursion,  and  that  the  young  people  for  the  sake  of 
diversion  were  agreed  to  represent  for  a  while  various  sorts  of 
human  occupation  —  one  is  to  play  millionaire,  another  beggar, 
still  others  judge,  teacher,  artisan,  labourer,  high  official,  and 
valet.  Each  one  plays  his  part  with  the  greatest  abandon;  one 
commands  and  the  other  obeys,  one  dictates  and  the  other  trem- 
bles. And  yet  behind  it  all  there  is  a  pleasant  feeling  that  at  bot- 
tom they  are  all  just  alike,  and  that  the  whole  game  is  worth  while 
merely  because  they  know  that  one  is  in  fact  as  good  as  another. 
If  a  real  beggar  or  servant  were  to  come  into  the  circle,  there  would 
be  no  more  fun,  and  the  game  would  be  wholly  meaningless. 
Strange  as  it  may  sound,  this  feeling  is  at  the  bottom  of  social 
life  in  America.  Every  one  says  to  himself:  All  of  us  who 
inhabit  this  incomparable  country  are  at  bottom  comrades;  one 
bakes  bread  and  the  other  eats  it,  one  sits  on  the  coachman's  box 
and  the  other  rides  inside;  but  this  is  all  because  we  have  agreed 
so  to  assign  the  roles.  One  commands  and  the  other  obeys,  but 
with  a  mutual  understanding  that  this  merely  happens  to  be  the 
most  appropriate  distribution  of  functions  under  the  circumstances 
in  which  we  happen  to  be  placed. 

The  real  man,  it  is  felt,  is  not  affected  by  this  differentiation, 
and  it  would  not  be  worth  while  either  to  command  or  to  obey  if 
all  men  did  not  tacitly  understand  that  each  esteems  the  other  as 
an  equal.  A  division  of  labour  is  necessary,  but  as  long  as  any 
one  does  the  work  apportioned  to  him  he  belongs  of  course  to  the 
fraternal  circle,  quite  as  well  as  the  one  who  by  reason  of  industrial 
conditions  or  natural  talents  comes  to  take  a  more  distinguished 
or  agreeable  position.  Whoever  makes  this  claim  honestly  for 
himself  assumes  that  every  one  else  does  likewise.  On  the  other 
hand,  whosoever  thinks  himself  equal  to  those  above  him,  but 
superior  to  those  beneath  him,  conceives  external  differences  to 
be  intrinsic,  and  makes  thus  a  presumptuous  demand  for  himself. 
The  man  who  truly  sees  social  equality  as  a  real  part  of  the  social 
contract,  will  feel  toward  those  above  as  toward  those  below  him. 


S34  THE  AMERICANS 

He  will  make  his  own  claims  good  by  the  very  act  of  recognizing 
the  claims  of  others.  The  spirit  of  social  self-assertion  requires 
the  intrinsic  equality  of  all  one's  neighbours  who  belong  to  the 
social  community  in  question. 

So  long  as  one  seeks  equality  by  trying  to  imitate  one's  more 
wealthy,  more  educated,  or  more  powerful  neighbours  and  trying 
to  gloze  over  the  differences,  or  by  consciously  lowering  one's  self 
to  the  level  of  the  poor,  the  uninfluential,  and  the  uneducated,  and 
either  by  spiritual  or  by  material  aid  obliterating  the  distinction, 
one  is  not  really  believing  in  equality,  but  is  considering  the  outer 
distinctions  as  something  actual.  Indeed,  the  zeal  to  wipe  out 
distinctions  is  the  most  obvious  admission  that  one  feels  actual 
differences  to  exist  in  the  social  fabric.  Where  the  spirit  of  self- 
assertion,  with  the  recognition  of  one's  neighbour  as  an  equal  social 
being,  prevails,  there  will  be  no  lack  of  striving  for  outward  simi- 
larity, of  trying  to  help  one's  self  along,  and  of  helping  others  up 
to  one's  own  position;  but  this  is  looked  on  as  a  technical  matter 
and  not  as  referring  intrinsically  to  the  participants  in  the  social 
game. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  a  European  can  fully  appreciate  this 
social  point  of  view,  because  he  is  too  apt  to  distort  the  idea  into 
an  ethical  one.  He  is  ready  to  abstract  artificially  from  all  social 
differences,  and  to  put  the  ethical  idea  of  moral  equality  in  the 
stead  of  social  differentiation.  The  social  system  is  secondary 
then  to  the  moral  system,  as  in  fact  religion  actually  teaches.  The 
American,  however,  goes  in  just  the  opposite  direction.  He  pre- 
supposes, as  a  matter  of  course,  that  the  citizens  of  the  United  States 
are  socially  equal,  whether  they  live  in  the  White  House  or  work 
in  the  coal  mine;  and  this  point  of  view  is  not  dependent  on  any 
ethical  theory,  but  is  itself  the  basis  of  such  a  theory.  When  we 
were  speaking  of  the  influence  of  religion  on  morality,  we  espe- 
cially emphasized  the  fact  that  religious  ethics  are  everywhere 
complemented  by  a  purely  social  ethic,  and  now  we  meet  this  new 
form  of  ethics.  Religion  requires  a  morality  of  which  the  princi- 
ple is  clearly,  though  somewhat  derogatorily,  designated  in  philo- 
sophical discussions  as  the  morality  of  submission,  and  which 
finds  its  counterpart  in  the  ethical  theories  of  moral  lordship  — 
the  forcible  and  conscious  suppression  of  the  weak.  Now  the 
American  constructs  a  morality  of  comradeship  which  is  as  far 


SELF-ASSERTION  535 

from  the  morality  of  submission  as  from  that  of  lordship;  which 
is  unlike  either  the  morality  of  the  pietist  based  on  the  religious 
idea  of  immortality,  or  the  morality  of  Nietzsche,  based  on 
biological  exigencies.  This  morality  of  comradeship  is  based 
entirely  on  the  idea  of  society. 

This  does  not  mean  that  it  is  a  question  of  fulfilling  moral 
requirements  in  order  to  escape  social  difficulties,  or  to  gain  social 
advantages,  but  of  recognizing  this  morality  simply  as  a  social 
requirement.  Such  actions  may  be  called  moral  because  they  are 
unselfish  and  arise  from  no  other  motive  than  that  of  the  inner 
desire;  and  still  they  are  not,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  moral  because 
they  are  not  universally  valid,  and  refer  no  further  than  the  circle 
of  the  special  social  community.  They  may  be  compared  to  the 
requirements  which  arise  in  some  communities  out  of  a  peculiar 
conception  of  honour;  but  the  society  here  is  a  whole  nation,  with- 
out caste  and  without  distinction.  And,  moreover,  an  idea  of 
honour  gets  its  force  from  the  self-assertion  of  a  personality,  while 
the  social  morality  of  the  American  arises  in  a  demand  for  the 
recognition  of  another.  The  fundamental  feeling  is  that  the  whole 
social  interplay  would  have  no  meaning,  and  social  ambition  and 
success  would  yield  no  pleasure,  if  it  were  not  clearly  understood 
that  every  other  member  of  the  social  community  is  equal  to  one's 
self,  and  that  he  has  the  absolute  right  to  make  such  a  claim. 

The  criminal  and  the  man  without  honour  have  forfeited  that 
right;  they  are  excluded  from  the  community  and  cut  off  from 
the  social  game.  But  distinctions  of  position,  of  education,  of 
heredity,  and  of  property,  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  right. 
If  we  are  to  strive  for  social  success,  we  must  be  perfectly  sure  at 
the  outset  that  we  are  all  comrades,  participating  in  the  various 
labours  of  the  great  gay  world  with  mutual  approval  and  mutual 
esteem;  and  we  must  show  that  we  believe  this,  by  our  actions. 
And  because  here  it  is  not  a  question  of  rigorous  morality,  but 
rather  of  the  moral  consequences  of  social  ideals,  the  ethical  goes 
by  inappreciable  steps  into  the  ethically  indifferent,  into  purely 
social  customs  and  habits;  and  in  many  cases  into  evils  and 
abuses  that  follow  from  the  same  social  ideals.  We  may  picture 
to  ourselves  the  salient  traits  which  are  essential  to  this  spirit  of 
social  self-assertion. 

A  stranger  first  notices,  perhaps,  the  perfect  confidence  with 


536  THE  AMERICANS 

which  everybody  goes  about  his  business,  without  feeling  oppressed 
by  those  above  nor  exalted  by  those  beneath  him.  He  feels  him- 
self an  equal  among  equals.  There  is  no  condescension  to  those 
beneath  nor  servility  to  those  above.  The  typical  American 
feels  himself  in  every  social  situation  self-assured  and  equal;  he 
is  simply  master  of  himself,  polite  but  frank,  reserved  but  always 
kind.  He  detests  patronage  and  condescension  as  much  as  ser- 
vility and  obsequiousness.  For  condescension  emphasizes  the  dif- 
ference in  the  rank,  and  presumes  to  challenge  a  possible  forget- 
ting of  this  difference  by  suggesting  that  both  the  persons  do 
recognize  the  distinction  as  intrinsic.  A  man  who  asserts  his  true 
equality  and  expects  in  every  other  honourable  man  the  same  self- 
assertion,  scarcely  understands  how  purely  technical  differences 
of  social  position  can  affect  the  inner  relations  of  man  to  man. 

One  who  grows  up  in  such  a  social  atmosphere  does  not  lose 
his  feeling  of  assurance  on  coming  into  quite  a  different  society. 
Archibald  Forbes,  the  Englishman,  describes  somewhere  the 
American  war  correspondent,  MacGahan,  who  was  the  son  of  an 
Ohio  farmer,  as  he  appeared  in  a  Russian  camp.  "Never  before," 
writes  Forbes,  "have  I  seen  a  young  man  appear  so  confident 
among  high  officers  and  officials.  There  was  no  trace  in  his  man- 
ner of  impudence  or  presumption.  It  was  as  if  he  had  conceived 
the  matter  on  a  single  principle:  I  am  a  man  —  a  man  who,  in  an 
honourable  way  and  for  a  specific  purpose,  which  you  know  or 
which  I  will  gladly  tell  you,  needs  something  which  you  are  best 
able  to  give  me — -information,  a  pass,  or  something  of  the  sort; 
therefore  I  ask  it  of  you.  It  is  indifferent  to  the  logic  of  the  situ- 
ation whether  you  are  a  small  lieutenant  or  a  general  in  command, 
a  messenger  boy,  or  an  imperial  chancellor."  And  some  one  else 
has  added,  "MacGahan  could  do  anything  with  Ignatieff;  he 
calmly  paid  court  to  Mme.  Ignatieff,  patronized  Prince  Gortscha- 
koff,  and  gave  a  friendly  nod  to  the  Grand  Duke  Nicholas." 

It  is  not  surprising  that  Englishmen  are  the  ones  who  feel  this 
trait  of  the  Americans  most  markedly.  England,  which  is  most 
similar  to  America  politically,  is,  in  this  respect  of  real  belief  in 
social  equality,  most  dissimilar;  and  in  curious  contrast  to  Russia, 
which  is  politically  the  very  furthest  removed  from  America,  but 
which  in  its  common  life  has  developed  most  of  all  a  feeling  of 
social  equality.  And  still  the  American  feeling  is  very  different 


SELF-ASSERTION  537 

from  the  Russian.  In  the  Russian  man,  all  the  deeper  sensibilities 
are  coloured  by  a  religious  conception;  he  accounts  himself  at 
bottom,  neither  better  nor  worse  than  the  most  miserable:  where- 
as the  American  feels,  on  the  contrary,  that  he  is  at  bottom  not 
inferior  to  the  very  best.  The  Russian  sense  of  equality  pulls 
down  and  the  American  exalts. 

As  for  the  Englishman,  Muirhead  relates  as  follows  in  his 
book,  "The  Land  of  Contrasts":  "There  is  something  wonder- 
fully rare  and  delicate  in  the  finest  blossoms  of  American  civiliza- 
tion —  something  that  can  hardly  be  paralleled  in  Europe.  The 
mind  that  has  been  brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  theoretically 
free  from  all  false  standards  and  conventional  distinctions  acquires 
a  singularly  unbiased,  detached,  absolute,  purely  human  way  of 
viewing  life.  In  Matthew  Arnold's  phrase,  'it  sees  life  steadily 
and  sees  it  whole';  just  this  attitude  seems  unattainable  in  Eng- 
land; neither  in  my  reading  nor  my  personal  experience  have  I 
encountered  what  I  mean  elsewhere  than  in  America.  .  .  .  The 
true-born  American  is  absolutely  incapable  of  comprehending 
the  sense  of  difference  between  a  lord  and  a  plebeian  that  is  forced 
on  the  most  philosophical  among  ourselves  by  the  mere  pressure 
of  the  social  atmosphere.  It  is  for  him  a  fourth  dimension  of 
space;  it  may  be  talked  about,  but  practically  it  has  no  existence. 
.  .  .  The  British  radical  philosopher  may  attain  the  height 
of  saying,  *  With  a  great  sum  obtained  I  this  freedom  ';  the  Ameri- 
can may  honestly  reply, '  But  I  was  free-born."1 

But  what  Muirhead  thus  says  of  the  colour  of  the  finest  flowers 
is  true,  if  we  look  more  closely,  of  the  entire  flora;  it  may  not  be 
so  delicate  and  exquisite  as  in  these  flowers;  it  is  often  mixed  with 
cruder  colours,  but  every  plant  on  American  soil,  if  it  is  not  just 
an  ordinary  weed,  has  a  little  of  that  dye. 

It  is  not  correct  to  suppose  that  inequalities  of  wealth  work 
directly  against  this  feeling.  In  spite  of  all  efforts  and  ambitions 
toward  wealth  and  the  tendencies  to  ostentation,  the  American 
lacks  just  that  which  makes  the  possession  of  property  a  distinction 
of  personal  worth  —  the  offensive  lack  of  consideration  toward 
inferiors  and  the  envy  of  superiors.  As  gladly  as  the  American 
gets  the  best  and  dearest  that  his  purse  can  buy,  he  feels  no 
desire  to  impress  the  difference  on  those  who  are  less  prosperous. 
He  does  not  care  to  outdo  the  poorer  man;  his  luxury  signifies  his 


538  THE  AMERICANS 

personal  pleasure  in  expenditure  as  an  indication  of  his  success 
in  the  world.  But  so  far  as  he  thinks  of  those  who  are  looking  on, 

O  * 

it  is  of  those  richer  persons  whom  he  would  like  to  imitate,  and  not 
of  those  who  can  afford  less  than  himself. 

Envy  was  not  planted  in  the  American  soul.  Envy  is  not 
directed  at  the  possession,  but  at  the  possessor;  and  therefore,  it 
recognizes  that  the  possessor  is  made  better  by  what  he  owns.  A 
person  who  asserts  himself  strains  every  nerve  to  improve  his  own 
condition,  but  never  envies  those  who  are  more  favoured.  And 
envy  would  be  to  him  as  great  a  degradation  as  pure  servility. 
Undoubtedly  here  is  one  of  the  most  effective  checks  to  socialism. 
Socialism  may  not  spring  directly  from  envy,  but  a  people  given 
to  envy  are  very  ready  to  listen  to  socialism ;  and  in  America  social- 
ism remains  a  foreign  cult,  which  is  preached  to  deaf  ears.  A 
man  who  feels  himself  inferior,  and  who  envies  his  wealthier 
fellows,  would  be  glad  to  bring  about  an  artificial  equality  by 
equalizing  ownership:  whereas  the  man  who  accounts  himself 
equal  to  every  one  else  is  ready  to  concede  the  external  inequality 
which  lends  fresh  impetus  and  courageous  endeavour  to  his 
existence;  and  this  the  more  as  the  accumulation  of  capital  be- 
comes an  obviously  technical  matter,  not  immediately  contributory 
to  the  enjoyment  of  life.  The  billionaire  enjoys  no  more  than 
the  millionaire,  but  merely  works  with  a  more  complicated 
and  powerful  apparatus.  Even  direct  economic  dependence  does 
not  depress  the  spirit  of  self-assertion.  We  shall  have  later  to 
speak,  indeed,  of  strong  opposite  tendencies,  and  to  speak  of 
social  differentiation;  but  this  trait  remains  everywhere.  It  is 
much  more  strongly  in  evidence  in  town  and  country  than  in  the 
large  city,  and  much  more  in  the  West  than  in  the  East. 

The  tokens  of  greeting  are  thoroughly  characteristic.  An 
American  doffs  his  hat  to  ladies  out  of  respect  to  the  sex;  but  men 
meet  one  another  without  that  formality,  and  the  finer  differences 
in  the  nod  of  the  head,  expression  of  the  eyes,  and  movements  of 
the  hat  indicate  the  degree  of  personal  familiarity  and  liking,  but 
not  of  social  position.  Position  is  something  technical,  profes- 
sional, and  external,  which  is  not  in  question  when  two  men  meet 
on  the  street.  They  greet  because  they  know  each  other,  and  in 
this  mutual  relation  of  personal  acquaintance  they  are  merely 
equal  human  beings,  and  not  the  representatives  of  professional 


SELF-ASSERTION  539 

grades.  The  careful  German  adjustment  of  the  arc  through 
which  the  hat  is  carried  and  of  the  angle  to  which  the  body  bends, 
in  deference  to  social  position,  strikes  the  American  as  nonsen- 
sical. The  fundamental  disregard  of  titles  and  orders  is,  of  course, 
closely  connected  with  such  a  feeling.  This  has  two  sides,  and 
has  particularly  its  exceptions,  which  we  shall  not  fail  to  speak 
of;  but,  on  the  whole,  titles  and  orders  are  under  the  ban.  The 
American  feels  too  clearly  that  every  form  of  exaltation  is  at  the 
same  time  a  degradation,  for  it  is  only  when  all  are  equal  that  no 
one  is  inferior,  and  so  soon  as  some  one  is  distinguished,  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  inequality  is  admitted  and  he  in  turn  subordinates 
himself  to  others. 

It  would  be  unfair  to  draw  the  conclusion  from  this  that  Ameri- 
cans hate  every  sort  of  subordination.  On  the  contrary,  one 
who  watches  American  workmen  at  their  labour,  or  studies  the 
organization  of  great  business  houses,  or  the  playing  of  games 
under  the  direction  of  a  captain,  knows  that  for  a  specific  purpose 
American  subordination  can  become  absolute.  The  much-boasted 
American  talent  for  organization  could  not  have  been  so  bril- 
liantly confirmed  if  it  had  not  found  everywhere  an  absolute  will- 
ingness for  conscious  subordination.  But  the  foot-ball  player  does 
not  feel  himself  inferior  to  the  captain  whose  directions  he  follows. 
The  profound  objection  to  subordination  comes  out  only  where  it 
is  not  a  question  of  dividing  up  labour,  but  of  the  real  classification 
and  grading  of  men.  It  is  naturally  strongest,  therefore,  in  regard 
to  hereditary  titles  where  the  distinction  clearly  cannot  be  based 
on  the  personal  merits  of  the  inheritor. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  consequences  of  this  feeling  is  very 
noticeable  to  a  stranger.  The  American  thinks  that  any  kind  of 
work  which  is  honourable  is  in  principle  suitable  for  everybody. 
To  be  sure,  this  looks  differently  in  theory  and  in  practice;  the 
banker  does  not  care  to  be  a  commercial  traveller,  nor  the  com- 
mercial traveller  a  bar-tender,  nor  the  bar-tender  a  street-cleaner; 
and  this  not  merely  because  he  regards  his  own  work  as  pleasanter, 
but  as  more  respectable.  Nevertheless,  it  is  at  once  conspicuous 
with  what  readiness  every  useful  sort  of  labour  is  recognized  as 
honourable;  and  while  the  European  of  the  better  classes  is  vexed 
by  the  query  how  one  can  work  and  nevertheless  remain  respect- 
able, the  American  finds  it  much  harder  to  understand  how  one 


54-0  THE  AMERICANS 

can  remain  respectable  without  working.  The  way  in  which 
thousands  of  young  students,  both  men  and  women,  support  them- 
selves during  their  years  of  study  is  typical.  The  German  student 
would  feel  that  some  sort  of  teaching  or  writing  was  the  only 
work  suitable  to  him;  at  the  utmost  he  would  undertake  type-writ- 
ing. But  we  have  seen  in  connection  with  the  universities  that 
the  American  student  in  narrow  circumstances  is  not  afraid  during 
the  summer  vacations  to  work  as  porter  in  a  hotel,  or  as  horse-car 
driver,  in  order  to  stay  a  year  longer  at  the  university.  Or  perhaps, 
during  the  student  year,  he  will  earn  a  part  of  his  board  by  taking 
care  of  a  furnace.  And  none  of  the  sons  of  millionaires  who 
sit  beside  him  in  the  lecture  rooms  will  look  down  on  him  on  that 
account.  The  thoughtless  fellow  who  heaps  up  debts  is  despised, 
but  not  the  day-labourer's  son,  who  delivers  milk  in  the  early  morn- 
ing in  order  to  devote  his  day  to  science. 

This  is  everywhere  the  background  of  social  conceptions.  No 
honourable  work  is  a  discredit,  because  the  real  social  personality 
is  not  touched  by  the  casual  r61e  which  may  be  assumed  in  the 
economic  fabric.  Therefore  it  is  quite  characteristic  that  the  only 
labour  which  is  really  disliked  is  such  as  involves  immediate  per- 
sonal dependence,  such  as  that  of  servants.  The  chamber-maid 
has  generally  much  easier  work  than  the  shop  girl;  yet  all  wo- 
men flock  to  the  shops  and  factories,  and  few  care  to  go  into 
household  service.  Almost  all  servants  are  immigrants  from 
Ireland,  Scotland,  Sweden,  and  Germany,  except  the  negroes 
and  the  Chinese  of  the  West.  Even  the  first  generation  of  chil- 
dren born  in  the  country  decline  to  become  servants.  With  the 
single  individual,  it  is  of  course  a  matter  of  imitating  his  comrades 
and  following  general  prejudices;  but  these  prejudices  have  grown 
logically  out  of  the  social  ideals.  The  working-man  profession- 
ally serves  industry  and  civilization,  while  the  servant  appears  to 
have  no  other  end  than  complying  with  the  will  of  another  person. 
The  working-man  adjusts  himself  to  an  abstract  task,  quite  as 
his  employer;  while  the  servant  sells  a  part  of  his  free-will  and 
therefore  his  social  equality,  to  another  man. 

Most  notorious  is  the  fixed  idea  that  blacking  shoes  is  the  low- 
est of  all  menial  services;  and  this  is  an  hallucination  which  afflicts 
not  only  those  born  in  the  country,  but  even  the  immigrant  from 
Northern  Europe,  as  soon  as  he  passes  the  Statue  of  Liberty  in 


SELF-ASSERTION  54.1 

New  York  harbour.  The  problem  of  getting  shoes  blacked  would 
be  serious  were  it  not  for  the  several  million  negroes  in  the  country 
and  the  heavy  immigration  from  Southern  Europe  which  does 
not  get  the  instant  prejudice  against  shoe-polish.  But  the  theo- 
retical problem  of  why  servants  will  gladly  work  very  hard,  but 
strike  when  it  comes  to  blacking  shoes,  is  still  not  solved.  There 
is  possibly  some  vague  idea  that  blacking  shoes  is  a  symbol 
of  grovelling  at  some  one's  feet,  and  therefore  involves  the  utmost 
sacrifice  of  one's  self-respect. 

Closely  connected  with  this  is  the  American  aversion  against 
giving  or  accepting  fees.  Any  one  giving  a  fee  in  a  street-car 
would  not  be  understood,  and  there  are  few  things  so  unsym- 
pathetic to  the  American  who  travels  in  Europe  as  the  way  in 
which  the  lower  classes  look  for  an  obolus  in  return  for  every 
trivial  service  or  attention.  A  small  boy  who  accompanies  a 
stranger  for  some  distance  through  a  village  street  in  order  to 
point  out  the  way,  would  feel  insulted  if  he  were  offered  a  coin 
for  his  kindness.  The  waiters  in  the  large  hotels  are  less  offended 
by  tips,  for  they  have  adopted  the  custom  brought  over  by  Euro- 
pean waiters;  but  this  custom  has  not  spread  much  beyond  the 
large  cities.  It  is,  in  general,  still  true  that  the  real  American  will 
accept  pay  only  in  so  far  as  he  can  justly  demand  it  for  his  labour. 
Everything  above  that  makes  him  dependent  on  the  kindness  of 
some  one  else,  and  is  therefore  not  a  professional,  but  a  personal 
matter,  and  for  the  moment  obliterates  social  equality. 

Just  as  any  sort  of  work  which  does  not  involve  the  sacrifice 
of  the  worker's  free-will  is  suitable  for  every  one,  so  the  individual 
is  very  much  less  identified  with  his  occupation  than  he  is  in 
Europe.  He  very  often  changes  his  occupation,  A  clergyman 
who  is  tired  of  the  pulpit  goes  into  a  mercantile  employment, 
and  a  merchant  who  has  acquired  some  new  interests  proceeds  to 
study  until  he  is  proficient  in  that  field;  a  lawyer  enters  the  indus- 
trial field,  a  manufacturer  enters  politics,  a  book  dealer  under- 
takes a  retail  furniture  business,  and  a  letter-carrier  becomes  a 
restaurant  keeper.  The  American  does  not  feel  that  a  man  is 
made  by  the  accidents  of  his  industrial  position,  but  that  the  real 
man  puts  his  professional  clothes  on  or  lays  them  off  without  being 
internally  affected.  The  belief  in  social  equality  minimizes  to  the 
utmost  the  significance  of  a  change  of  occupation;  and  it  may  be 


THE  AMERICANS 

that  the  well-known  versatility  and  adaptability  of  the  American 
are  mainly  due  to  this  fact.  For  he  is  so  much  more  conscious 
than  any  European  that  a  change  of  environment  in  nowise  alters 
his  personality,  and  therefore  requires  no  really  new  internal  ad- 
justment, which  would  be  difficult  always,  but  only  an  outward 
change  —  the  mastery  of  a  new  technique. 

A  foreigner  is  most  astonished  at  these  changes  of  occupation 
when  they  come  after  a  sudden  reverse  of  fortune.  The  readiness 
and  quietness  with  which  an  American  takes  such  a  thing  would  be 
absolutely  impossible,  if  the  spirit  of  self-assertion  had  not  taught 
him  through  his  whole  life  that  outward  circumstances  do  not 
make  the  man.  If  a  millionaire  loses  his  property  to-day,  his  wife 
is  ready  to-morrow  to  open  a  boarding-house;  circumstances  have 
changed,  and  as  it  has  been  her  lot  in  the  past  to  conduct  her  salon 
in  a  palace,  it  is  now  her  business  to  provide  a  good  noon-day  meal 
for  young  clerks.  She  enjoyed  the  first  a  great  deal  more,  and  yet 
it  too  brought  its  burdens.  The  change  is  one  of  occupation,  and 
does  not  change  her  personality.  The  onlooker  is  again  and  again 
reminded  of  actors  who  play  their  part;  they  appear  to  live  in 
every  role  for  the  moment  that  they  are  playing  it,  but  it  is  really 
indifferent  to  them  at  bottom  whether  they  are  called  on  to  play 
in  a  cloak  of  ermine  or  in  blue-jeans.  One  is  as  good  as  the  other, 
even  when  the  parts  require  one  to  swagger  about  and  the  other 
to  sweat. 

If  the  members  of  the  community  feel  themselves  really  equal, 
they  will  lay  special  importance,  in  their  social  intercourse,  on  all 
such  factors  as  likewise  do  not  accentuate  external  differences, 
but  bind  man  to  man  without  regard  to  position,  wealth,  or  culture. 
This  is  the  reason  of  the  remarkable  hold  which  sport  has  on 
American  life.  The  American  likes  sport  of  every  sort,  especially 
such  games  as  foot-ball  and  base-ball,  rowing,  wrestling,  tennis 
and  golf  and  polo,  in  all  of  which  bodily  exercise  is  used 
in  competition.  After  these  in  favour  come  hunting,  fishing, 
yachting,  riding,  swimming,  and  gymnastic  exercises.  The  sport 
of  mountain-climbing  is  less  popular,  and  in  general  the  American 
is  not  a  great  walker. 

American  sport  is,  indeed,  combined  with  many  unsportsmanlike 
elements.  In  the  first  place,  betting  has  taken  on  such  propor- 
tions that  financial  considerations  are  unduly  influential,  and  the 


SELF-ASSERTION 

identification  of  opposing  teams  with  special  clubs,  universities, 
or  cities  too  often  brings  it  about,  that  the  sportsmanlike  desire 
to  see  the  best  side  win  is  often  made  secondary  to  the  unsports- 
manlike desire  to  see  one's  own  side  win  at  any  cost.  And  yet 
even  the  fervour  with  which  the  spectators  on  the  grand-stand 
manifest  their  partisanship  is  only  another  expression  of  the  fact 
that  the  average  American  is  intensely  moved  by  sport;  and  this 
interest  is  so  great  as  to  overcome  all  social  distinctions  and  create, 
for  the  time  being,  an  absolutely  equal  fellow-feeling. 

Base-ball  is  the  most  popular  game,  and  is  played  during  the 
spring  and  summer.  The  autumn  game  of  foot-ball  is  too  com- 
plicated, and  has  become  too  much  of  a  "science"  to  be  a  thor- 
oughly popular  game.  In  the  huge  crowds  which  flock  to  see  a 
university  foot-ball  game,  the  larger  part  is  not  always  aware  of 
what  is  happening  at  every  moment,  and  can  appreciate  only  the 
more  brilliant  plays.  Tennis  and  golf  are  too  expensive  to  be 
popular;  and  in  golf,  moreover,  the  success  of  a  player  is  too  in- 
dependent of  the  skill  of  his  antagonist.  Water  sports  are  out  of 
the  question  in  many  localities.  But  every  lad  in  city  or  country 
plays  base-ball.  It  can  be  played  everywhere,  can  be  easily  fol- 
lowed by  spectators,  and  combines  the  interest  of  team  work  with 
the  more  naive  interest  in  the  brilliant  single  play.  It  is  said  that 
on  every  warm  Saturday  afternoon,  base-ball  matches  are  played 
in  more  than  thirty  thousand  places,  before  audiences  of  some  five 
million  amateurs  in  sport.  Around  the  grounds  sit  labouring  men, 
clergymen,  shop-boys,  professors,  muckers,  and  millionaires,  all 
participating  with  a  community  of  interest  and  feeling  of  equality 
as  if  they  were  worlds  removed  from  the  petty  business  where 
social  differences  are  considered. 

There  is  only  one  more  sovereign  power  than  the  spirit  of  sport 
in  breaking  down  all  social  distinctions;  it  is  American  humour. 
We  could  not  speak  of  political  or  intellectual  life  without  empha- 
sizing this  irrepressible  humour;  but  we  must  not  forget  it  for  a 
moment  in  speaking  of  social  life,  for  its  influence  pervades  every 
social  situation.  The  only  question  is  whether  it  is  the  humour 
which  overcomes  every  disturbance  of  the  social  equilibrium  and 
so  restores  the  consciousness  of  free  and  equal  self-assertion,  or 
whether  it  is  this  consciousness  which  fosters  humour  and  seeks 
expression  in  a  good-natured  lack  of  respect.  No  immoderation, 


544  THE  AMERICANS 

no  improper  presumption,  and  no  pomposity  can  survive  the  first 
humorous  comment,  and  the  American  does  not  wait  long  for 
this.  The  soap-bubble  is  pricked  amid  general  laughter,  and 
equality  is  restored.  Whether  it  is  in  a  small  matter  or  whether  in 
a  question  of  national  importance,  a  latent  humour  pervades  all 
social  life. 

Not  a  single  American  newspaper  appears  in  the  morning  with- 
out some  political  joke  or  whimsical  comment,  a  humorous  story, 
or  a  satirical  article;  and  those  who  are  familiar  with  American 
papers  and  then  look  into  the  European  newspaper,  find  the 
greatest  contrast  to  be  in  the  absence  of  humour.  And  the  same 
is  true  of  daily  life;  the  American  is  always  ready  for  a  joke  and 
has  one  always  on  his  lips,  however  dry  the  subject  of  discus- 
sion may  be,  and  however  diverse  the  social  "position"  of  those 
present.  A  happy  humorous  turn  will  remind  them  all  that  they 
are  equal  fellow-citizens,  and  that  they  are  not  to  take  their  dif- 
ferent functions  in  life  too  solemnly,  nor  to  suppose  that  their 
varied  outward  circumstances  introduce  any  real  inequality.  As 
soon  as  Americans  hear  a  good  story,  they  come  at  once  to  an  un- 
derstanding, and  it  is  well-known  that  many  political  personali- 
ties have  succeeded  because  of  their  wit,  even  if  its  quantity  was 
more  than  its  quality. 

American  humour  is  most  typically  uttered  with  great  serious- 
ness; the  most  biting  jest  or  the  most  extravagant  nonsense  is 
brought  out  so  demurely  as  not  at  all  to  suggest  the  real  intent. 
The  American  is  a  master  at  this,  and  often  remarks  the  English- 
man's incapacity  to  follow  him.  The  familiar  American  criticism 
of  their  English  cousins  is,  in  spite  of  Punch,  certainly  exagger- 
ated —  as  if  there  were  no  humour  at  all  in  the  country  which  pro- 
duced Dickens.  But  it  cannot  be  denied  that  American  humour 
to-day  is  fresher  and  more  spontaneous.  And  this  may  be  in  large 
part  due  to  the  irrepressible  feeling  of  equality  which  so  carries 
humour  into  every  social  sphere.  The  assurance  of  this  feeling 
also  makes  the  American  ready  to  caricature  himself  or  his  very 
best  friend.  But  it  is  necessary  especially  to  observe  the  masses, 
the  participants  in  a  festival,  citizens  on  voting  day,  popular 
crowds  on  the  streets  or  in  halls,  in  order  to  feel  how  all-power- 
ful their  humour  is.  A  good  word  thrown  in  makes  all  of  them 
forget  their  political  differences,  and  an  amusing  occurrence  re- 


SELF-ASSERTION  545 

pays  them  for  every  disappointment.  They  say,  Let's  forget 
the  foolish  quarrel  about  trivial  differences;  we  would  rather  be 
good-natured,  now  that  we  are  reminded,  in  spite  of  all  differences, 
of  our  social  equality. 

Now,  out  of  this  feeling  of  equality  there  spring  far-reaching 
duties.  Especially  there  are  those  which  concern  one's  self,  and 
these  are  the  same  as  proceeded  from  the  Puritan  spirit  of  self- 
perfection.  They  are  the  same  requirements,  although  they  are 
expressed  in  different  ethical  language  and  somewhat  differently 
accentuated.  The  fundamental  impulse  in  this  group  of  feelings 
is  wholly  un-Puritan  and  entirely  social.  I  assert  myself  to  be 
equal  to  all  others  who  are  worthy  of  esteem,  and  therefore  I  must 
recognize  for  myself  all  the  duties  which  those  who  are  richer, 
more  educated,  and  more  influential  impose  on  themselves;  in 
short,  I  must  behave  like  a  gentleman.  The  motto,  which  cer- 
tainly has  nothing  to  do  with  religion,  is  noblesse  oblige;  but  the 
nobility  consists  in  being  a  citizen  of  America,  and  as  such  subor- 
dinate to  no  man.  The  duties  which  accrue  are,  however,  quite 
similar  to  religious  obligations.  The  gentleman  requires  of  him- 
self firstly  self-control  and  social  discipline.  Also  in  this  connec- 
tion we  find  a  sexual  purity  which  is  not  known  on  the  Continent; 
one  may  sit  in  jovial  men's  society  after  dinner  with  cigars  around 
the  fireplace  a  hundred  times  without  ever  hearing  an  unclean 
story  :  and  if  a  young  fellow  tried  to  boast  to  his  friends  of  his 
amorous  adventures,  in  the  European  manner,  he  would  be 
snubbed.  Nowhere  in  the  world  is  a  young  girl  so  safe  in  the 
protection  of  a  young  man. 

The  gentleman  is  marked,  first  of  all,  by  his  character;  every- 
thing which  is  low,  unworthy,  malicious,  or  even  petty  is  fundament- 
ally disagreeable  to  him.  The  true  American  is  not  to  be  judged 
by  certain  scandal-mongering  papers,  nor  by  city  politics.  As 
known  in  private  life,  he  is  admirable  in  all  his  social  attitudes. 
He  has  a  real  distaste,  often  in  part  aesthetic,  for  what  is  vulgar  or 
impure;  and  this  is  true  in  wider  as  in  more  exclusive  circles.  In 
business  he  may  look  sharply  to  his  own  advantage;  but  even  there 
he  is  not  stingy  or  trivial,  and  he  will  seldom  make  use  of  a  petty 
advantage,  of  doubtful  actions,  or  dishonourable  flattery  and  obse- 
quiousness in  order  to  gain  his  end,  nor  be  brutal  toward  a  weak 
competitor.  That  is  opposed  to  the  American  national  character. 


54.6  THE  AMERICANS 

It  is  less  opposed,  however,  to  the  assimilated  immigrant  popu- 
lation, especially  the  Irish. 

The  relation  of  one  man  to  his  neighbour  is  correspondingly  up- 
right. The  spirit  of  self-assertion  educates  to  politeness,  helpful- 
ness, good-nature,  and  magnanimity.  European  books  on  Amer- 
ica are  fond  of  saying  that  the  fundamental  principle  of  American 
life  is,  "  Help  yourself."  If  that  is  understood  to  mean  that  the 
individual  person  is  not  expected  to  keep  quiet  and  wait  for  some 
higher  power  to  help  him,  and  is  expected,  instead  of  waiting  for 
the  government,  to  go  ahead  and  accomplish  things  for  himself, 
it  is  true.  We  have  already  everywhere  discovered  the  principle 
of  individual  and  private  initiative  to  be  the  great  strength  of  the 
American  state;  the  community  is  to  act  only  when  the  strength 
of  the  individual  is  not  sufficient.  And  the  American  believes  in 
self-help  in  still  another  sense.  He  teaches  his  children  to  think 
early  of  economic  independence;  the  sons  even  of  the  wealthy  man 
are  to  begin  with  a  small  income  and  work  up  for  themselves. 
Here  the  traditions  of  the  pioneers  are  in  a  way  perpetuated,  for 
they  had  to  conquer  the  soil  by  their  own  hard  work.  This  training 
in  self-help  has  contributed  very  much  to  make  the  American 
strong,  and  will  doubtless  continue  to  be  regarded  as  the  proper 
plan  of  education,  however  much  the  increasing  prosperity  may 
tend  in  the  opposite  direction. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  motto  "Help  yourself"  is  thoroughly 
misleading,  if  it  is  taken  to  mean  that  every  one  must  help  himself 
because  his  neighbour  will  not  help  him.  A  readiness  to  help  in 
every  way  is  one  of  the  most  marked  traits  of  the  American,  from 
the  superficial  courtesy  to  the  noblest  self-sacrifice.  The  Ameri- 
can's unlimited  hospitality  is  well  known.  Where  it  is  a  question  of 
mutual  social  intercourse,  hospitality  is  no  special  virtue,  and  the 
lavish  extravagance  of  present-day  hospitality  is  rather  a  mistake. 
But  it  is  different  when  the  guest  is  a  stranger,  who  has  brought, 
perhaps,  merely  a  short  note  of  introduction.  The  heartiness  with 
which  such  an  one  is  promptly  taken  into  the  house  and  provided 
with  every  sort  of  convenience,  arises  from  a  much  deeper  impulse 
than  mere  delight  in  well-to-do  sociability.  In  the  large  cities, 
the  American  affords  his  guests  such  lodging  and  entertainment 
as  a  European  is  accustomed  to  bestow  only  in  the  country. 

More  or  less  remotely,  all  hospitality  involves  an  idea  of  ex- 


SELF-ASSERTION  54.7 

change;  the  entirely  one-sided  devotion  begins  first  in  philan- 
thropy. When  men  feel  themselves  essentially  equal,  they  may 
welcome  external  dissimilarities  which  incite  them  to  redoubled 
efforts;  but  they  will  not  like  to  see  this  unlikeness  go  beyond  a 
certain  point.  Differences  of  power,  education,  and  wealth  are 
necessary  to  keep  the  social  machinery  moving;  but  there  is  a  cer- 
tain lower  boundary  where  helplessness,  illiteracy,  and  poverty  do 
really  threaten  the  true  personality.  And  then  the  whole  signifi- 
cance of  social  community  is  lost.  One's  neighbour  must  not  be 
debased  nor  deprived  by  outward  circumstances  of  his  inner  self; 
he  must  have  at  once  the  means  of  working  for  culture  and  striv- 
ing for  power  and  possessions.  Otherwise,  an  inner  unlikeness 
would  arise  which  would  have  to  be  recognized,  and  which  would 
then  contradict  the  presuppositions  of  democratic  society.  The 
feeling  of  justice  is  aroused  at  the  sight  of  helplessness,  the  desire 
for  reform  at  the  sight  of  illiteracy;  and  poverty  inspires  eager 
assistance. 

In  its  outward  effects  social  helpfulness  amounts  to  the  same  as 
religious  benevolence,  although  they  are  at  bottom  far  removed, 
and  their  difference  may  be  recognized,  however  much  they  work 
into  one  another.  In  the  world  of  self-perfection  there  is  pity  for 
the  needy,  and  benevolence  is  offered  as  a  religious  sacrifice.  In 
the  world  of  self-assertion,  the  consciousness  of  right  is  upper- 
most, which  will  not  suffer  the  debasing  influence  of  poverty;  and 
here  benevolence  is  felt  as  a  social  duty  by  the  performance  of 
which  social  equality  is  preserved.  It  is  a  natural  consequence  of 
pity  and  sacrifice  to  encourage  beggary  and  unsystematic  alms-giv- 
ing; and  the  fact  that  in  America  everything  is  directed  against 
beggary  and  against  letting  anybody  feel  that  he  is  receiving  alms, 
speaks  for  the  predominance  of  the  social  over  the  religious  mo- 
tive in  America.  The  one  who  receives  alms  lowers  himself,  while 
the  true  social  purpose  is  not  in  the  charitable  intent  to  help  up  the 
fallen,  but  to  protect  the  social  organism  from  the  pathological 
symptom  of  such  debasement;  the  belief  in  equality  and  the  right 
of  self-assertion  must  not  be  taken  from  any  individual  in  America. 
The  other  extreme,  state  aid,  legal  enactments,  or  illness  and  acci- 
dent insurance,  or  insurance  against  old  age  or  lack  of  employment, 
would  be  politically  impossible.  They  would  be  an  attempt  on 
the  individual's  right  of  self-determination,  which  would  be 


54S  THE  AMERICANS 

opposed  for  the  sake  of  principle.  The  American  social  system 
demands,  rather,  development  along  a  line  somewhere  between 
individual  alms-giving  and  government  insurance.  It  is  a  ques- 
tion of  creating  permanent  social  organizations  to  do  away  with 
poverty,  illness,  depravity,  crime,  and  distress  in  a  systematic, 
intelligent  fashion. 

The  connection  with  the  state  would  thus  be  preserved,  since  the 
state  poor-laws  supervise  and  regulate  such  organizations;  on  the 
other  hand,  the  connection  with  individuals  would  be  preserved, 
since  they  derive  most  of  their  means  from  private  gifts  and  enlist 
a  great  deal  of  personal  service,  particularly  that  of  women.  Be- 
sides these  private  and  semi-public  organizations,  there  is  the  co- 
operation of  certain  state  institutions  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the 
other  of  quiet  individual  benevolence,  for  which  any  amount  of 
organization  always  leaves  plenty  of  scope.  Care  of  the  poor  and 
of  children,  social  settlements  and  educational  funds,  whatever 
the  forms  of  helpfulness,  the  same  spirit  of  almost  exaggerated 
benevolence  inspires  the  gift  of  unlimited  money,  advice,  time,  and 
strength.  Philanthropy  could  be  improved  in  its  outward  tech- 
nique in  many  states.  Too  often  politics  have  a  disturbing  in- 
fluence; inexperience  and  religious  narrowness  are  in  evidence; 
efforts  are  sometimes  directed  partly  against  one  another;  and 
many  conditions  of  distress  arising  from  the  mixed  population  of 
the  great  thinly  settled  tracts  of  land,  present  problems  which  are 
still  unsolved.  But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  recognition  of 
the  benevolent  traits  of  American  character. 

The  readiness  of  the  American  to  give  to  good  purposes  is  the 
more  impressive  the  closer  one  looks.  From  a  distance,  one  sees 
gifts  of  millions  of  dollars  which  less  impress  one;  everybody 
knows  that  men  like  Carnegie,  Rockefeller,  and  Vanderbilt  make 
no  sacrifices  in  contributing  sums  even  in  seven  figures.  But  the 
person  who  is  nearer  the  scene  observes  that  there  is  also  the  wid- 
ow's mite,  and  that  the  well-to-do  middle  class  often  gives  away  a 
proportion  of  its  income  that  seems  almost  too  large,  according  to 
European  ideas.  And  this  giving  is  never  a  thoughtless  throwing 
away;  the  giver  always  investigates.  Almost  everybody  has  a 
special  interest,  where  he  fulfils  his  benevolent  duties  thoughtfully 
and  intelligently.  Vanity  hardly  figures  at  all;  the  largest  gifts 
are  often  anonymous  and  unheard  of  by  the  newspapers.  Those 


SELF-ASSERTION  54.9 

who  are  often  in  the  position  of  appealing  to  American  public 
spirit  for  good  purposes,  soon  lose  the  feeling  that  they  are  remind- 
ing the  public  of  a  duty  or  asking  for  an  offering.  The  American 
gives  in  a  way  which  suggests  that  he  is  delighted  to  be  called  on 
for  so  worthy  a  cause;  he  often  adds  a  word  of  thanks  to  a  contri- 
bution which  is  larger  than  was  expected,  for  having  his  attention 
called  to  the  cause  in  hand. 

And  his  benevolence  is  not  all  a  matter  of  the  check-book. 
Whether  the  wind  has  blown  some  one's  hat  off  in  the  street,  or 
some  greater  mischance  has  brought  unhappiness,  the  American 
feels  that  he  lives  in  the  midst  of  a  kindly  disposed  community.  A 
feeling  of  comradeship  is  always  more  or  less  in  evidence.  In  any 
case  of  sudden  accident  or  misfortune,  the  way  in  which  the  Ameri- 
can unselfishly  lends  a  hand,  or  the  crowd  instinctively  organizes 
itself  to  give  aid,  always  astonishes  a  newcomer. 

This  fundamental  motive  shows  itself  in  many  ways;  magna- 
nimity is  one  of  the  most  characteristic  variations.  The  American 
takes  no  advantage  of  the  weakness  or  misfortune  of  another;  he 
likes  competition,  but  that  presupposes  that  the  competitors  have 
equal  advantages.  An  opponent's  disadvantage  takes  away  the 
pleasure  of  victory.  During  the  Spanish  War,  the  ovations  ac- 
corded to  the  Spanish  "  heroes "  were  often  decidedly  beyond  the 
limits  of  good  taste;  and  even  during  the  Civil  War,  when  the 
embitterment  was  extreme,  people  outdid  themselves  in  their  kind 
treatment  of  the  prisoners.  And  leading  men  of  the  North  have 
lately  proposed,  in  spirited  public  addresses,  to  erect  a  national 
monument  to  General  Lee,  the  great  leader  of  the  Southern 
States.  As  in  war  so  it  is  in  peace.  The  presidential  candidates 
of  the  two  parties  arranged  some  years  ago  to  speak  in  the  same 
places  during  the  same  week;  but  one  of  them  was  detained  by 
illness  in  his  family,  and  the  other  cancelled  his  speeches  in  order 
not  to  profit  by  the  misfortune  of  his  opponent.  In  the  case  of  a 
difference  of  opinion  which  is  settled  by  vote,  say  in  a  small  club 
or  committee  meeting,  the  cheerful  submission  of  the  minority  is 
generally  surpassed  by  the  magnanimity  of  the  majority. 

This  same  magnanimity  is  shown  in  helping  the  weak;  there  are 
no  better-natured,  more  considerate,  and  patient  people  than  the 
American,  so  long  as  the  social  side  of  life  is  in  question.  Their 
temperamental  coolness  and  humour  stand  them  in  good  stead.  At 


55o  THE  AMERICANS 

bottom  it  is  the  feeling  that  they  are  all  equal,  and  that  if  one  has 
made  a  miss-step  to-day  and  needs  help,  one  needed  it  one's  self 
yesterday,  and  may  need  it  again  to-morrow.  The  accident  that 
one  is  doing  one's  duty  at  the  moment  while  another  is  careless, 
indiscreet,  or  foolish  is  not  to  be  magnified  nor  taken  to  mean 
that  one's  self  is  a  better  sort  of  a  man.  Such  kindliness  greatly 
makes  for  general  informality. 

Among  the  current  complaints  of  Europeans  is,  that  the  Ameri- 
can life  lacks  just  this  serene  cordiality,  the  German  Gemutlichkeit. 
It  is  true,  indeed,  that  the  rhythm  of  American  life  is  quicker  and 
more  energetic;  so  that  the  stranger,  until  he  has  become  accus- 
tomed to  the  more  strenuous  pace,  remains  at  first  oppressed  by  a 
disagreeable  sense  of  haste;  just  as  the  American  who  visits  Ger- 
many has  at  first  a  disagreeable  feeling  of  hide-bound  pedantry 
and  careless  indifference.  Such  a  first  impression  is  superficial. 
As  soon  as  the  American  is  adapted  to  the  adagio  of  German  life, 
he  feels  that  the  slowness  is  not  carelessness;  and  the  German, 
when  he  has  learned  the  smarter  marching  time  of  American  life, 
knows  in  the  same  way  that  the  quick,  strong  accent  by  no  means 
excludes  serenity  and  comfort.  It  is  true  that  in  the  two  countries 
these  feelings  are  differently  distributed.  The  German  Christmas- 
tide  is  certainly  more  fervent  and  serene  than  the  American,  but 
it  is  a  question  whether  German  popular  life  has  any  holiday  more 
warmly  solemnized  than  the  Thanksgiving  Day  of  New  England. 
The  American  nature  favours  a  purely  social  comfort  which  has  less 
to  do  with  sentiment  and  feeling  than  with  the  sense  of  affiliation. 

German  informality  develops  itself  always  among  social  equals, 
because  in  Germany  social  differences  seem  to  extend  to  the  deep- 
est traits  of  personality;  but  social  distinctions  do  not  stand  in  the 
way  of  the  sympathetic  intercourse  of  Americans,  because  they 
hardly  ever  forget  that  such  differences  are  external.  In  this  sense 
the  South  German  enjoys  more  Gemutlichkeit  than  the  North 
German,  and  the  American  more  than  any  European.  The  most 
indiscriminately  chosen  group  can  be  brought  to  a  unity  of  feeling 
by  the  merest  comical  or  pathetic  accident,  so  that  all  social 
distinctions  fall  away  like  dead  leaves.  In  the  most  dignified 
assembly,  as  at  the  busiest  office,  a.  single  word  or  jest  creates 
unconsciously  a  sympathetic  mood,  in  which  the  youngest  mes- 
senger and  the  most  important  director  come  at  once  into 


SELF-ASSERTION  55i 

equality.  A  feeling  runs  through  the  whole  social  life,  as  if  one 
would  like  to  say,  with  a  jovial  wink,  that  no  one  believes  really  in 
all  the  social  distinctions,  but  is  looking  for  what  is  good  in  the 
inner  personality. 

The  most  energetic  expression  of  this  inner  striving  for  equality 
lies  in  the  feeling  of  justice.  There  is  no  province  in  which 
American  and  German  feelings  are  so  different.  This  is  especially 
true  in  the  matter  of  penal  law.  A  crime  is  naturally  a  crime  here 
as  there,  and  the  differences  in  penalty  are  mainly  due  to  different 
political,  social,  and  industrial  institutions.  The  American  is  per- 
haps astonished  at  the  rigour  of  German  law  regarding  the  press  or 
lese  majeste,  and  at  the  mild  punishment  for  duelling,  or  certain 
social  delinquencies;  while  the  German  is  amazed  at  the  severe 
American  laws  relating  to  temperance  and  at  the  mild  punishment 
for  slander  of  officials,  etc.  But  all  this  does  not  show  the  least 
difference  in  the  sense  of  justice,  but  only  in  the  institution.  The 
real  difference  is  deeper.  The  German,  we  might  say,  lays  the 
chief  emphasis  in  seeing  to  it  that  on  no  account  a  criminal  shall 
evade  the  law,  while  the  American  will  on  no  account  let  an  inno- 
cent man  be  punished.  It  is  a  matter  of  course  that  every  social 
community  includes  delinquents,  and  that  for  the  protection  of 
society  a  penal  code  must  do  its  best  to  suppress,  to  intimidate,  or 
to  improve  the  lawless  will.  But  in  view  of  such  necessary  ma- 
chinery, the  American  feels  that  every  effort  should  be  made  that 
his  guiltless  neighbour  shall  not  be  molested,  since  the  neighbour 
is  one  like  himself.  It  is  better  for  a  hundred  guilty  persons  to 
escape  the  punishment  they  deserve  than  for  a  single  innocent 
person  to  be  in  the  least  aggrieved. 

The  real  distinctions,  therefore,  do  not  lie  in  the  penal  code,  but 
in  the  way  it  is  administered;  to  put  it  extremely,  the  German  who 
is  accused  is  guilty  until  he  proves  his  innocence,  while  the  Ameri- 
can is  innocent  until  he  is  proved  guilty.  A  single  example  will 
make  the  matter  clear.  Any  one  in  the  United  States  who  has  been 
charged  with  murder  or  any  other  misdeed  and  on  trial  found  not 
guilty,  can  never  again  during  his  whole  life  be  tried  for  the  same 
crime;  not  even  if  entirely  new  and  convincing  evidence  comes  up 
later,  nor  even  if  he  should  himself  confess  the  crime.  The  Ameri- 
can jurist  says  that  the  state  has  been  given  sufficient  opportu- 
nity to  prove  the  defendant's  guilt.  If  the  counsel  of  the  state  as 


THE  AMERICANS 

plaintiff  has  not  been  able  to  convince  the  jury,  the  accused  man 
is  legally  innocent,  and  is  protected  as  a  matter  of  principle  from 
the  dread  of  any  renewal  of  the  accusation.  In  American  legal  opin- 
ion the  German  method  of  procedure  involves  a  certain  arbitrari- 
ness, which  according  to  the  opinion  of  many  lawyers,  is  tolerated 
in  Germany  only  because  of  the  admirable  quality  cf  the  judges. 
American  jurists  say  that  about  half  of  the  testimony  admitted  in 
the  German  court-room,  and  two-thirds  admitted  in  the  French, 
are  entirely  incompatible  with  the  legal  supposition  that  every 
man  is  innocent  until  proved  guilty. 

The  different  use  of  the  oath  is  also  characteristic  of  these  two 
countries.  The  sworn  testimony  on  the  basis  of  "  information  and 
belief"  is  admitted  without  more  ado,  and  so  two  contradictory 
pieces  of  evidence  under  oath  are  not  only  admissible,  but  are 
very  common;  and  the  German  acceptance  of  the  oath  of  one 
party  and  exclusion  of  that  of  the  other  seems  a  downright  impos- 
sibility from  the  point  of  view  of  American  law.  In  the  same  cate- 
gory is  the  requirement  that  the  verdict  of  the  jury  shall  be  unani- 
mous. The  twelve  jurymen  may  not  leave  the  court  except  under 
surveillance  until  they  have  pronounced  the  verdict;  and  thus  it 
happens  that  they  often  have  to  sleep  and  eat  for  days  in  the  court 
house  in  order  to  be  guarded  from  outside  influences.  If  after 
all  they  can  come  to  no  agreement,  the  case  is  dropped  and  the 
situation  remains  exactly  as  it  was  before  the  trial;  and  the  state 
attorney  is  free  to  bring  a  new  accusation.  Only  an  unanimous 
"guilty"  or  "not  guilty"  can  be  accepted.  In  this  connection,  too, 
is  found  the  unusual  significance  of  the  judicial  injunctions,  and 
especially  of  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus,  derived  from  Magna 
Charta,  which  says  that  no  free  man  is  to  be  deprived  of  life,  lib- 
erty, or  property,  except  according  to  the  law  of  the  land  and  by 
the  verdict  of  his  peers. 

On  looking  over  the  judicial  practice  of  the  country  as  a  whole, 
one  will  feel,  quite  as  in  Germany,  that  this  great  machinery  suc- 
ceeds in  punishing  crime  and  protecting  society;  but  in  America 
the  instinctive  fear  of  the  law  is  accompanied  by  a  profounder  feel- 
ing that  any  innocent  man  is  perfectly  safe.  Every  trial  shows,  in 
a  way,  most  clearly  the  negative  side  of  the  process,  that  the  rights 
of  the  defendant  are  to  be  carefully  protected.  And  if  a  newcomer 
in  the  country  recalls  certain  exaggerated  reports  in  German  news- 


SELF-ASSERTION  553 

papers  of  corruption  in  American  courts,  he  should  bear  in  mind  the 
words  of  Choate.  Shortly  before  going  as  ambassador  to  England, 
he  made  a  speech  before  a  society  of  jurists,  of  which  he  was  presi- 
dent, on  the  advantages  and  disadvantages  of  trial  by  jury.  As  to 
the  theoretical  possibility  of  bribery  in  such  cases,  he  said  that  he 
could  pass  the  matter  over,  since,  during  his  experience  of  forty 
years  in  law,  he  had  not  seen  a  single  case  in  which  even  one 
member  of  any  jury  had  been  accused  of  having  been  bribed.  Un- 
reliability in  the  administration  of  justice  would  do  away  at  once 
with  the  fundamental  principle  of  American  social  life.  When 
men  believe  sincerely  in  their  equality,  they  naturally  develop  a 
strong  sense  of  justice,  and  regard  the  protection  of  the  inno- 
cent man  against  every  sort  of  prejudice,  hostility,  dislike,  or 
disregard  as  the  very  highest  function  of  the  law. 

We  have  depicted  the  brighter  side  of  the  American  sense  of 
equality,  and  may  now,  with  a  few  strokes,  put  in  the  shadows.  No 
one  has  denied  that  there  are  unfortunate  features,  although  some 
assert  that  they  must  be  accepted  or  else  more  important  advan- 
tages sacrificed.  A  stranger  is  at  once  struck  by  the  tendency  to 
uniformity  which  arises  from  the  belief  in  general  equality.  The 
spirit  of  comradeship  is  unfavourable  to  individual  differentiation, 
no  matter  whether  it  is  a  question  of  a  man's  hat  and  necktie  or  his 
religion  and  his  theory  of  the  universe.  He  is  expected  to  demon- 
strate his  uniformity  by  seeming  no  different  from  every  one  else. 
In  outward  matters  this  monotony  is  considerably  favoured  by 
industrial  conditions,  which  produce  staple  articles  in  great  quan- 
tities and  distribute  them  from  one  end  of  the  country  to  another. 
Exactly  the  same  designs  in  fashion,  arts  and  crafts,  furniture  and 
machinery  are  put  on  exhibition  at  the  same  time  in  the  show-win- 
dows from  New  York  to  San  Francisco.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is 
the  economic  custom  of  the  American  to  replace  everything  which 
he  uses  very  frequently.  This  is  due  to  the  cheapness  of  all  manu- 
factured articles  and  the  high  price  of  the  manual  labour  which  is 
necessary  to  make  repairs.  It  is  actually  cheaper  to  buy  new  shoes 
and  underclothing  at  frequent  intervals  than  to  have  the  old  ones 
mended,  and  this  also  provides  every  man  with  the  latest  styles.  If 
a  new  style  of  collar  is  brought  out  to-day,  there  will,  say  among 
the  thousands  of  Harvard  students,  be  hardly  a  hundred  to-mor- 
row wearing  the  old  style.  This  tendency  is,  of  course,  aided  by 


AMERICANS 

the  general  prosperity,  which  enables  an  unusually  large  propor- 
tion of  persons  to  have  considerably  more  than  they  need,  and  to 
indulge,  perhaps  imitatively,  in  the  fashionable  luxuries  of  the 
day. 

As  much  as  the  general  prosperity  favours  this  rapid  adoption  of 
new  fashions,  it  is  still  clear  that  wealth  might,  in  itself,  also  help 
its  possessors  to  distinguish  themselves  in  outward  ways;  but  this 
does  not  happen  in  the  United  States  by  reason  of  these  prevalent 
social  ideals.  Now,  the  desire  to  do  as  others  do  affects  even  the 
inner  life;  one  must  play  the  same  game  and  must  read  the  same 
novel,  not  because  one  thinks  it  is  better,  but  because  others  do  it, 
and  because  one  feels  in  inner  accord  with  the  social  community 
only  by  loving  and  hating  the  same  things  as  it.  Those  who  do 
not  like  what  others  like,  find  themselves  extremists  at  once;  they 
are  instinctively  held  off  by  society  as  bizarre  or  over-intense,  and 
relegated  to  the  social  periphery.  There  are  too  few  intermediate 
stages  between  the  many  who  follow  one  another  and  the  few  who 
follow  no  one,  and  the  finer  shadings  of  personality  are  too  much 
lost  in  this  way.  Americans  ape  one  another  as  the  officers  of  an 
army,  and  not  merely  in  uniform,  but  in  the  adjustment  of  all  their 
habits  and  desires,  until  comradeship  becomes  sterile  uniformity. 

In  many  ways  the  American  inventive  talent  tends  to  relieve  the 
general  monotony.  But  this  effort  all  the  time  to  discover  new 
solutions  of  this  or  that  social  problem,  new  surprises,  new  enter- 
tainments, is  itself  only  a  sort  of  game  which  is  played  at  by  all 
uniformly.  The  small  city  imitates  the  large  one,  the  rural  popu- 
lation imitates  the  metropolitan;  no  profession  cares  to  keep  its 
own  social  individuality;  and  the  press  and  politics  of  the  entire 
country  tend  to  obliterate  all  professional  and  local  differences 
in  social  life,  and  to  make  of  the  whole  nation  a  huge  assembly  of 
gentlemen  and  ladies  who,  whether  high  or  low,  desire  to  be  just 
gentlemen  and  ladies  at  large.  It  is  still  not  difficult  to-day  to 
distinguish  a  gentleman  of  Omaha  from  a  New  Yorker;  but  this 
is  in  spite  of  the  former,  who,  as  a  matter  of  principle,  aims  to  pre- 
sent the  same  appearance.  East  and  West,  and  recently  in  both 
North  and  South,  one  sees  the  same  countenance,  and  it  is  seldom 
that  one  hears  something  of  an  intelligent  effort  to  kindle  local 
sentiment  in  contrast  to  national  uniformity.  There  is  an  appeal 
to  provincialism  to  free  itself  from  the  system  of  empty  mutual 


SELF-ASSERTION  555 

imitation,  and  yet  everybody  must  see  that  the  profoundest 
instincts  of  this  country  are  unfavourable  to  the  development  of 
individual  peculiarities. 

The  dangers  of  this  uniformity  are  chiefly  aesthetic,  although  it 
is  not  to  be  forgotten  that  uniformity  very  easily  grows  into  intel- 
lectual mediocrity,  and  under  some  circumstances  may  bring  about 
a  certain  ethical  listlessness.  On  the  other  hand,  the  unfavourable 
effects  of  that  good-nature  which  dominates  American  life  are  all  of 
them  ethical.  Their  amiable  good-nature  is,  in  a  certain  sense,  the 
great  virtue  of  the  Americans;  in  another  sense,  their  great  failing. 
It  is  actually  at  bottom  his  good-nature  which  permits  him  every- 
where to  overlook  carelessness  and  crookedness,  and  so  opposes 
with  a  latent  resistance  all  efforts  at  reform.  The  individual,  like 
the  nation,  has  no  gift  for  being  cross;  men  avoid  for  their  own, 
but  more  especially  for  others'  sake,  the  disagreeable  excitement. 
Since  the  country  is  prosperous  and  the  world  wags  pretty  well,  no 
one  ought  to  grumble  if  he  is  now  and  then  imposed  on,  or  if  some 
one  gets  an  advantage  over  him,  or  makes  misuse  of  power. 
Among  comrades  nobody  ought  to  play  the  stern  pontiff. 

An  earnest  observer  of  the  country  said,  not  long  since,  that  the 
hope  of  the  country  does  not  lie  in  those  amiable  people  who  never 
drop  the  smile  from  their  lips,  but  in  those  who,  on  due  provoca- 
tion, get  thoroughly  excited.  Dust  is  settling  on  the  country,  and 
there  is  no  great  excitement  to  shake  it  off.  The  cobwebs  of  eco- 
nomic interests  are  being  spun  from  point  to  point,  and  will  finally 
hide  the  nation's  ideals.  Good-nature  produces  a  great  deal  of 
self-content  in  the  United  States,  and  those  are  not  the  worst  friends 
of  the  country  who  wish  it  might  have  "  bad  times  "  once  more,  so 
that  this  pleasant  smile  might  disappear,  and  the  general  indiffer- 
ence give  place  to  a  real  agitation  of  spirit.  The  affair  with  Spain 
brought  nothing  of  the  sort;  there  was  only  enough  anger  to  pro- 
duce a  pleasant  prickling  sensation,  and  the  easy  victory  strength- 
ened in  every  way  the  national  feeling  of  contentment.  There 
have  been  a  few  large  disasters,  due  to  somebody's  neglect  of  duty, 
such  as  the  burning  of  a  Chicago  theatre,  which  have  done  some- 
thing to  stimulate  the  public  conscience  and  to  impress  on  people 
how  dangerous  it  is  to  let  things  go  just  as  they  will;  but  even  the 
disastrous  accidents  which  result  from  this  carelessness  are  quickly 
forgotten. 


556  THE  AMERICANS 

The  shadows  are  darkest  where  the  spirit  of  social  equality  at- 
tempts artificially  to  do  away  with  those  differences  which  properly 
exist  in  school  and  family  life.  It  may  be  partly  a  reaction  against 
the  over-strict  bringing  up  of  former  generations;  but  everywhere 
pedagogical  maxims  seem  senselessly  aiming  to  carry  over  the 
idea  of  equality  from  the  great  social  world  into  the  nursery.  It 
has  become  a  dogma  to  avoid  all  constraint  and,  if  possible,  all 
punishment  of  children,  and  to  make  every  correction  and  rebuke 
by  appealing  to  their  insight  and  good-will.  Thus  the  whole  edu- 
cation and  schooling  goes  along  the  line  of  least  resistance;  the 
child  must  follow  all  his  own  inclinations.  And  this  idea  is  noth- 
ing at  bottom  but  a  final  consequence  of  the  recognition  of  social 
equality  between  all  persons.  To  constrain  another  person,  even 
if  he  is  a  mere  child,  means  to  infringe  his  personal  liberty,  to  offer 
him  an  ethical  affront,  and  so  to  accustom  him  to  a  sort  of  depend- 
ence that  appears  to  be  at  variance  with  the  American  idea.  Of 
course,  the  best  people  know  that  lack  of  discipline  is  not  freedom, 
and  that  no  strength  is  cultivated  in  the  child  that  has  always  fol- 
lowed the  line  of  least  resistance  and  never  experienced  any  friction. 
But  the  mass  of  people  thoughtlessly  overlooks  this,  and  is  content 
to  see  even  in  the  family  the  respect  of  children  for  their  parents 
and  elders  sacrificed  to  this  favourite  dogma. 

Nature  happily  corrects  many  of  these  evils.  It  may  be  sport, 
most  of  all,  which  early  in  the  child's  life  introduces  a  severe  dis- 
cipline; and  here  the  American  principle  is  saved,  since  the  out- 
wardly rigid  discipline  which  is  enforced  on  every  participant  in 
the  game  is,  nevertheless,  at  every  moment  felt  to  be  his  own  will. 
The  boy  has  himself  sought  out  his  comrades.  If  he  had  also 
chosen  his  parents  there  would  be  nothing  against  their  giving  him 
a  good,  sound  punishment  occasionally,  instead  of  yielding  indul- 
gently to  all  his  moods.  If  sport  and  the  severe  competition  of  pub- 
lic life  were  not  here  to  save,  it  would  be  incomprehensible  that 
such  spoiled  children  should  grow  up  into  a  population  which 
keeps  itself  so  strictly  organized.  Lack  of  discipline  remains, 
however,  in  evidence  wherever  the  constraint  appears  to  be  arti- 
ficial and  not  self-chosen.  Where,  for  instance,- the  discipline  of 
the  army  sometimes  leads  to  situations  which  apparently  contra- 
dict "  sound  common  sense,"  the  free  American  will  never  forget 
that  the  uniform  is  nothing  but  an  external  detail  apart  from  his 


SELF-ASSERTION  557 

inner  self.  And  even  the  commanding  general  will  resort  to  the 
publicity  of  the  press.  In  intellectual  matters,  all  this  is  repeated 
in  the  lack  of  respect  shown  in  forming  judgment;  every  one  thinks 
himself  competent  to  decide  all  questions,  and  the  most  compe- 
tent judgments  of  others  are  often  discounted,  because  every  one 
thinks  himself  quite  as  good  and  desires  to  assert  himself,  and  feels 
in  nowise  called  on  to  listen  with  respect  to  the  profqunder  knowl- 
edge, reasoning,  or  experience  of  another. 

We  have  so  far  said  nothing  of  those  whose  self-assertion  and 
claims  to  equality  are  the  most  characteristic  expression  of  Ameri- 
can life  —  the  American  women.  We  must  not  merely  add  a  word 
about  them  at  the  end  of  the  chapter;  they  are,  at  least,  a  chapter 
by  themselves.  And  many  who  have  studied  American  life  would 
say  that  they  are  the  entire  story. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 

The  Self-Assertion  of  Women 

IT  is  said  that  the  United  States  is  the  only  country  in  which 
parents  are  disappointed  on  the  appearance  of  a  boy  baby,  but 
will  greet  the  arrival  of  a  girl  with  undisguised  pleasure.  Who 
will  blame  them  ?  What,  after  all,  will  a  boy  baby  come  to  be  ?  He 
will  go  to  work  early  in  life,  while  his  sisters  are  left  to  go  on  and 
on  with  their  education.  He  may  work  for  a  position  in  society, 
but  it  will  be  mainly  in  order  to  let  his  wife  play  a  role;  he  may 
amass  property,  but  most  of  all  in  order  to  provide  bountifully  for 
his  daughter.  He  will  have  to  stand  all  his  life  that  she  may  sit; 
will  have  to  work  early  and  late,  in  order  that  she  may  shine.  Is 
it  really  worth  while  to  bring  up  a  boy  ?  But  the  little  princess 
in  the  cradle  has,  indeed,  a  right  to  look  out  on  the  world  with 
laughing  eyes.  She  will  enjoy  all  the  privileges  which  nature 
specially  ordained  for  woman,  and  will  reach  out  confidently, 
moreover,  for  those  things  which  nature  designed  peculiarly  for 
man.  No  road  is  closed  to  her;  she  can  follow  every  inclination 
of  her  soul,  and  go  through  life  pampered  and  imperious.  Will 
she  marry  ?  She  may  not  care  to,  but  nobody  will  think  if  she 
does  not  that  it  is  because  she  is  not  able  to  realize  any  cherished 
desire.  Will  she  be  happy  ?  Human  destiny  is,  after  all,  destiny; 
but  so  far  as  nature  and  society,  material  blessings,  and  intellectual 
considerations  can  contribute  toward  a  happy  life,  then  surely 
the  young  American  woman  is  more  favoured  by  fortune  than 
either  man  or  woman  in  any  other  part  of  the  world  can  hope  to 
be.  Is  this  advantage  of  hers  also  a  gain  to  the  family,  to  society, 
and  the  nation  ? 

It  is  not  perfectly  correct  to  speak  of  the  American  woman  as  a 
type  —  the  Southern  girl  is  so  different  from  the  daughter  of  New 
England,  the  women  of  California  so  different  from  those  of 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  559 

Chicago,  and  the  different  elements  of  population  are  so  much 
more  traceable  in  women  than  in  men.  And  yet  one  does  get 
a  characteristic  picture  of  the  average  woman.  It  may  be  too 
much  influenced  by  the  feminine  figures  which  move  in  the  better 
circles  to  be  a  faithful  average  likeness.  Perhaps  the  young  girl 
student  has  been  too  often  the  model,  perhaps  there  is  a  remin- 
iscence of  the  Gibson  girl;  and  nevertheless,  one  discovers  some 
general  features  of  such  youth  in  the  fair  women  whose  hair  has 
turned  grey,  and  there  is  something  common  to  the  daughters  of 
distinguished  families  and  the  young  women  of  the  less  favoured 
classes. 

The  American  woman  is  a  tall,  trim  figure,  with  erect  and  firm 
carriage;  she  is  a  bit  like  the  English  girl,  and  yet  very  different. 
This  latter  is  a  trifle  stiff,  while  the  American  girl  is  decidedly 
graceful;  the  lines  of  her  figure  are  well  moulded,  and  her  appear- 
ance is  always  aided  by  the  perfect  taste  of  her  raiment.  In  the 
expression  of  her  face  there  is  resolution  and  self-control,  and 
with  the  resolution  a  subtle  mischievous  expression  which  is  both 
tactful  and  amiable.  And  with  her  evident  self-control  there  is  a 
certain  winsome  mobility  and  seemingly  unreserved  graciousness. 
The  strength  appears  not  to  contradict  the  grace,  the  determina- 
tion not  to  be  at  variance  with  the  playfulness;  her  eyes  and  play 
of  expression  reveal  the  versatile  spirit,  fresh  enthusiasm,  and 
easy  wit;  yet  her  forehead  shows  how  earnestly  she  may  think 
and  desire  to  be  helpful  in  society,  and  how  little  contented  simply 
to  flirt  and  to  please  men. 

And  then  her  expression  may  change  so  suddenly  that  one  asks 
in  vain  whether  this  energy  was,  perhaps,  merely  put  on;  was 
perhaps  a  whimsical  caprice  ;  perhaps  her  intellectual  versatility 
was  merely  an  elegant  superficiality.  Is  she  at  bottom  only  in 
search  of  enjoyment  ?  Is  this  show  of  independence  real  moral 
self-assertion,  and  this  decision  real  courage,  or  does  she  emanci- 
pate herself  merely  out  of  ennui;  is  it  a  search  for  excitement  ? 
And  is  her  eagerness  to  reach  out  for  everything  merely  an  effect 
of  her  environment  which  is  ready  to  give  everything?  But  could 
this  slim  figure  really  be  so  wonderfully  seductive,  if  her  eyes  and 
features  did  not  awaken  doubt  and  unsolved  questions;  if  every- 
thing were  clear,  simple,  and  obvious  ?  Woman  is  everywhere  full 
of  contradictions;  and  if  the  American  woman  is  different  from  all 


$6o  THE  AMERICANS. 

her  sisters,  it  is  because  the  contradictions  in  her  face  and  mien 
seem  more  modern,  more  complex  and  unfathomable. 

But  it  is  vain  to  speak  of  the  American  woman  without  consid- 
ering her  relations  to  her  environment— the  background,  as  it  were, 
of  her  existence,  the  customs  and  institutions  under  which  she  has 
grown  up  and  continues  to  live.  We  must  speak  of  the  education 
and  schooling,  the  studies  and  occupations  of  women,  of  their  social 
and  domestic  position,  their  influence,  and  their  organized  efforts; 
and  then  we  shall  be  better  able  critically  to  evaluate  that  in  the 
American  woman  which  is  good,  and  that  which  is  perhaps  omi- 
nous. 

The  life  of  the  American  girl  is  different  from  that  of  her  Euro- 
pean sisters  from  the  moment  when  she  enters  school.  Public 
school  instruction  is  co-educational,  without  exception  in  the  lower 
grades,  and  usually  in  the  upper.  Of  the  six  hundred  and  twenty- 
eight  cities  of  the  country,  five  hundred  and  eighty-seven  have 
public  schools  for  boys  and  girls  together,  from  the  primary  to 
the  most  advanced  classes;  and  of  those  cities  that  remain, 
only  thirteen,  and  all  of  them  are  in  the  East,  separate  the  boys 
and  girls  in  every  grade.  In  the  country,  boys  and  girls  are 
always  together  at  school.  In  private  schools  in  cities,  the  in- 
struction is  more  apt  to  be  apart;  but  the  public  schools  educate 
91  per  cent,  of  the  youth  —  that  is,  about  7,700,000  boys  and 
7,600,000  girls. 

Co-education  has  been  adopted  to  a  different  extent  in  the  dif- 
ferent states,  and  even  in  the  different  grades  of  school  has  not  de- 
veloped equally.  The  instruction  of  boys  and  girls  together  has 
spread  from  the  elementary  classes,  and  while  the  idea  took  the 
West  by  storm,  it  was  less  immediately  adopted  by  the  conserv- 
ative East.  Practical  exigencies,  and  especially  the  matter  of 
economy,  have  greatly  affected  this  development;  and  yet,  on  the 
whole,  it  has  been  favoured  by  principle.  There  is  no  doubt  that, 
quite  apart  from  the  expense,  a  return  to  separate  instruction  for 
boys  and  girls  would  be  regarded  by  the  majority  of  the  people  to- 
day as  an  unallowable  step  backward:  there  has  been  consider- 
able theoretical  discussion  of  the  matter;  but  the  fact  remains  that 
the  nation  regards  the  great  experiment  as  successful.  This  does 
not  mean  that  the  American  thoughtlessly  ignores  sex  differences 
in  education;  he  is  aware  that  the  bodily,  moral,  and  intellectual 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  561 

strength  of  the  two  sexes  is  different,  and  that  their  development 
proceeds  along  different  lines.  But  firstly,  the  American  school 
system,  as  we  have  seen,  leaves  in  general  great  freedom  in  the 
selection  of  studies.  The  girls  may  take  more  French,  while  the 
boys  in  the  same  class  more  often  study  Latin;  and  many  subjects 
are  introduced  in  the  curriculum  expressly  for  one  or  the  other 
sex  —  such  as  sewing,  cooking,  and  type-writing  for  the  girls,  and 
carpentry  for  the  boys. 

It  is  said,  moreover,  that  just  as  boys  and  girls  eat  the  same  food 
at  the  family  table,  although  it  goes  to  make  very  different  sorts 
of  bodies,  so  too  the  same  intellectual  nourishment  will  be  digested 
in  a  different  way,  and  network  against  the  normal  intellectual  dif- 
ferences. It  is  important  only  for  the  instruction  like  the  nourish- 
ment to  be  of  the  best  sort,  and  it  is  feared  that  the  girls'  school 
would  drop  below  the  level  of  the  boys'  school  if  the  two  were  to 
be  made  distinct.  Equal  thoroughness  is  assured  only  by  having 
one  school.  Opponents  of  the  idea  affirm  that  this  one  school  is 
virtually  nothing  but  a  boys'  school  after  all,  with  girls  merely  in 
attendance,  and  that  the  school  is  not  sufficiently  adapted  to  the 
make-up  of  the  young  girls. 

The  main  point,  however,  lies  not  in  the  similarity  of  instruction, 
but  in  the  bringing  together  of  boys  and  girls.  It  is  true  that  the 
success  of  expensive  private  schools  in  large  cities  proves  that  there 
is  considerable  desire  among  parents  to  have  their  sons  go  to  school 
with  boys  and  their  daughters  only  with  girls;  but  the  nation,  as  a 
whole,  does  not  take  this  point  of  view,  but  believes  that  boys  and 
girls,  growing  up  as  they  do  together  in  the  home  and  destined  to 
live  together  as  adults,  should  become  accustomed  to  one  another 

O  * 

during  the  formative  period  of  school  instruction.  The  girls,  it  is 
said,  are  made  stronger  by  actually  working  with  the  boys;  their 
seriousness  is  emphasized  and  their  energy  developed,  while  the 
boys  are  refined  by  contact  with  the  gentler  sex  —  induced  to  be 
courteous,  and  influenced  toward  aesthetic  things.  And  if  theorists 
were  actually  to  fear  the  opposite  result  —  that  is,  that  the  boys 
should  be  made  weak  and  hysterical  and  the  girls  rough  and 
coarse  —  they  would  need  only  to  look  to  practical  experience, 
which  speaks  unanimously  to  the  contrary. 

A  still  less  well-grounded  fear  is  that  of  those  who  wish  to  sepa- 
rate the  sexes  especially  during  the  adolescent  period.  So  far  as 


562  THE  AMERICANS 

this  exceedingly  complicated  question  admits  of  a  brief  summing 
up,  the  nation  finds  that  the  sexual  tension  is  decreased  by  the  con- 
tact in  the  school;  the  common  intellectual  labour,  common  ambi- 
tions, and  the  common  anxieties  awaken  comradeship  and  diminish 
all  ideas  of  difference.  Boys  and  girls  who  daily  and  hourly  hear 
one  another  recite  their  lessons,  and  who  write  together  at  the 
black-board,  are  for  one  another  no  objects  of  romantic  longing  or 
seductive  mystery.  Such  a  result  may  be  deplored  from  another 
point  of  view  —  namely,  that  for  reasons  not  connected  with  the 
school,  such  romanticism  is  desirable;  but  one  must  admit  that  the 
discouragement  of  unripe  passion  in  the  years  of  development 
means  purer  and  healthier  relations  between  the  sexes,  both  phys- 
ically and  mentally.  All  regrettable  one-sidedness  is  done  away 
with.  Just  as  in  the  stereoscope  a  normal  perception  of  depth  is 
brought  out  by  the  combination  of  two  flat  pictures,  so  here  the 
constant  combination  of  the  masculine  and  feminine  points  of 
view  results  in  a  normal  feeling  of  reality. 

Then,  too,  the  school  in  this  wise  prepares  the  way  for  later  social 
intercourse.  Boys  and  girls  are  brought  together  without  special 
supervision,  innocently  and  as  a  matter  of  course,  from  the  nursery 
to  early  manhood  and  womanhood.  It  is  only  the  artificial  sepa- 
ration of  the  two  sexes,  the  American  says,  which  produces  that 
unsound  condition  of  the  fancy  that  makes  the  relation  of  the 
sexes  on  the  European  Continent  so  frivolous  and  dubious.  The 
moral  atmosphere  of  the  United  States  is  undoubtedly  much  freer 
from  unhealthful  miasms.  A  cooler  and  less  sensual  tempera- 
ment contributes  much  to  this,  but  the  comradely  intercourse  of 
boys  and  girls  from  the  early  school  days  to  the  time  of  marriage  is 
undoubtedly  an  equally  purifying  force.  The  small  boy  very  early 
feels  himself  the  natural  protector  of  his  weaker  playmate,  and  the 
girl  can  always,  whether  in  the  nursery  or  as  a  young  lady  in  her 
mother's  parlour,  receive  her  friends  alone,  even  when  her  parents 
are  not  at  home.  A  little  coquetry  keeps  alive  a  certain  sense  of 
difference,  always,  but  any  least  transgression  is  entirely  precluded 
on  both  sides.  The  boy  profoundly  respects  his  girl  friend  as  he 
does  his  own  sister,  and  she  could  not  be  safer  than  in  his  protec- 
tion. The  gallantry  of  the  European  is  at  bottom  egotistic.  It  is 
kind  in  order  to  win,  and  flatters  in  order  to  please;  while  the  gal- 
lantry of  the  American  is  not  aimed  to  seduce,  but  to  serve;  it  does 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  563 

not  play  with  the  idea  of  male  submission,  but  sincerely  and  truly 
gives  the  woman  first  place. 

The  only  logical  consequence,  when  boys  and  girls  enjoy  not 
only  equivalent  but  absolutely  equal  school  training,  is  that  their 
further  education  shall  go  on  parallel.  We  have  seen  the  peculiar 
position  of  the  American  college;  how  it  is  almost  incomparable 
with  any  German  institution,  being  a  sort  of  intermediate  member 
between  the  high  school  and  true  university  —  the  scene  of  a  four- 
year  intellectual  activity,  resembling  in  some  respects  the  German 
school,  and  in  others  the  German  university.  We  have  seen  how 
the  college  removes  the  young  man  from  the  parental  influences 
from  his  eighteenth  to  twenty-second  years,  and  places  him  in  a 
new,  small,  and  academic  world  of  special  ideals  which  is  centred 
around  some  beautiful  college  yard.  We  have  seen  how  two 
things  happen  in  these  years;  on  the  one  hand,  he  is  prepared  for 
his  future  occupation,  especially  if  he  is  to  enter  a  professional 
faculty  of  the  university,  and  on  the  other  he  receives  a  broad, 
humanitarian  training.  We  have  seen  also  that  these  hundreds 
of  colleges  form  a  scale  of  very  small  gradations,  whose  different 
steps  are  adapted  to  the  different  social  needs  of  various  sections 
of  the  country ;  that  the  better  colleges  are  like  a  German 
Prima,  with  three  or  four  semesters  in  the  philosophical  faculty  of 
a  university,  and  that  the  inferior  colleges  hardly  reach  the  level 
of  the  Unterprima.  In  such  an  institution,  we  have  found  the 
source  of  the  best  that  is  in  American  intellectual  life.  Now  this 
institution  opens  wide  its  doors  to  women. 

Here,  in  truth,  co-education  is  less  prominent.  The  conservative 
tendency  of  Eastern  colleges  has  worked  against  the  admission 
of  women  into  the  better  of  them,  and  the  advantages  of  colleges 
for  none  but  women  are  so  well  attested  that  the  East  at  least  will 
hardly  make  a  change,  although  the  Middle  and  Western  States 
look  on  it  virtually  as  a  sin  against  inborn  human  rights,  to  es- 
tablish colleges  for  anything  but  the  education  of  both  sexes  alike. 
It  was  easier  to  oppose  mixed  education  in  the  college  sphere 
than  in  the  school,  because  the  common  elementary  training  was 
needed  at  the  outset  for  both  sexes,  while  the  demand  for  college 
training  for  women  came  up  much  later,  when  the  tradition  of  col- 
leges for  men  was  already  well  established.  Harvard  College  was 
already  two  hundred  years  old  when,  for  the  first  time,  an  Ameri- 


564.  THE  AMERICANS 

can  college  as  an  experiment  admitted  women;  this  was  Oberlin 
College  in  Ohio,  which  began  the  movement  in  1833.  The  first 
women's  college  was  established,  three  years  later,  in  Georgia  — 
a  pioneer  institution  in  the  South. 

But  progress  was  slow.  It  was  not  until  1862  that  the  govern- 
ment gave  ten  million  acres  of  land  for  educational  institutions; 
and  then  higher  institutions  became  much  more  numerous,  espe- 
cially in  the  West,  and  from  that  time  it  was  agreed  that  women 
should  have  equal  privileges  with  men  in  these  new  colleges. 
Since  then  co-education  in  college  and  university  has  grown  to 
be  more  and  more  the  rule,  except  in  the  East.  All  state  colleges 
and  universities  are  open  to  women,  and  also  the  endowed  uni- 
versities —  Brown,  Chicago,  Cornell,  Leland  Stanford,  and  the 
University  of  Pennsylvania;  some  few  others,  as  Yale,  Colum- 
bia, and  Johns  Hopkins,  allow  women  to  attend  the  graduate 
schools  or  the  professional  faculties,  but  not  the  college.  Statis- 
tics for  all  the  colleges  in  the  country  show  that,  in  the  year  1880, 
only  51  per  cent,  were  co-educational;  in  1890  there  were  65  per 
cent.,  and  in  1900,  72  per  cent.  Practically,  however,  the  most 
significant  form  of  female  college  education  is  not  the  co-educa- 
tional, but  one  which  creates  a  special  college  paradise  for  young 
women,  where  there  are  no  male  beguilements  and  distractions. 

There  are  six  principal  institutions  which  have  taken  the  lead 
in  making  the  college  life  of  women  the  significant  thing  that  it 
now  is.  Vassar  College  was  the  first,  established  on  the  Hudson 
River  in  1861;  then  came  Wellesley  College,  near  Boston;  Bryn 
Mawr,  near  Philadelphia;  Smith  College,  in  Northampton;  Rad- 
clifFe  College,  in  Cambridge;  Barnard,  in  New  York.  There  is  a 
large  number  of  similar  institutions,  as  Holyoke,  Baltimore,  and 
others  in  ever-diminishing  series  down  to  institutions  which  are 
hardly  distinguishable  from  girls'  high  schools.  The  number  of 
girls  attending  strictly  women's  colleges  in  the  whole  country,  in 
1900,  was  23,900;  while  in  mixed  colleges  and  in  the  collegiate 
departments  of  universities  there  were  19,200  women  students  — 
just  a  quarter  of  the  total  number  of  college  students.  It  is 
notable  here  that  the  students  in  women's  colleges  since  1890 
have  increased  by  700,  and  in  mixed  colleges  by  9,000.  It  may 
be  mentioned,  in  passing,  that  there  are  35,000  women  students 
in  normal  schools. 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  565 

The  instruction  in  women's  colleges  is  mostly  by  women,  who 
number  1,744  —  that  is,  about  71  per  cent,  of  the  instructors  — 
while  in  mixed  colleges  the  857  women  are  only  10  per  cent,  of  the 
teaching  staff.  In  the  leading  co-educational  universities,  like  Chi- 
cago, Ann  Arbor,  Leland  Stanford,  Berkeley,  and  others,  the  women 
are  almost  wholly  taught  by  men.  The  leading  women's  colleges 
pursue  different  policies.  Wellesley  has  almost  exclusively  women ; 
Bryn  Mawr,  Vassar,  and  Smith  have  both;  Radcliffe  and  Barnard 
are  peculiar,  in  that  by  their  by-laws  Radcliffe  is  taught  only  by 
Harvard  instructors,  and  Barnard  only  by  instructors  in  Columbia 
University.  This  identification  with  the  teaching  staffs  of  Harvard 
and  Columbia  assures  these  two  women's  colleges  an  especially 
high  intellectual  level.  And  the  same  thing  is  accomplished,  of 
course,  for  women  by  their  being  admitted  to  full  privileges  in 
Chicago,  Stanford,  and  in  the  large  state  universities,  such  as  Ann 
Arbor.  But  one  can  realize  the  whole  charm  and  poetry  of 
women's  colleges  only  on  a  visit  to  the  quiet  groves  of  Wellesley, 
Bryn  Mawr,  Vassar,  or  Smith. 

In  broad,  handsomely  kept  parks  there  lie  scattered  about  at- 
tractive villas,  monumental  halls  of  instruction,  club-houses  and 
laboratories;  and  here  some  thousand  girls,  seldom  younger  than 
eighteen  nor  older  than  twenty-five,  spend  four  happy  years  at 
work  and  play,  apart  from  all  worldly  cares.  They  row,  play 
tennis  and  basket-ball,  and  go  through  gymnastic  exercises;  and, 
as  a  result,  every  girl  leaves  college  fresher,  healthier,  and  stronger 
than  when  she  entered  it.  And  the  type  of  pale,  over-worked 
neurasthenic  is  unknown.  These  girls  have  their  own  ambitions 
in  this  miniature  world  —  their  positions  of  honour,  their  meetings, 
their  clubs  and  social  sets;  in  which,  however,  only  personality, 
talent,  and  temperament  count,  while  wealth  or  parental  influence 
does  not  come  in  question.  The  life  is  happy;  there  are  dancing, 
theatrical  performances,  and  innumerable  other  diversions  from 
the  opening  celebration  in  the  fall  to  the  festivities  in  June,  when 
the  academic  year  closes.  And  the  life  is  also  earnest.  There 
is  no  day  without  its  hours  of  conscientious  labour  in  the  lecture 
hall,  the  library  or  study,  whether  this  is  in  preparation  for  later 
teaching,  for  professional  life  or,  as  is  more  often  the  case,  solely 
for  the  harmonious  development  of  all  the  student's  faculties. 
One  who  looks  on  these  fresh  young  girls  in  their  light  costumes, 


566  THE  AMERICANS. 

the  venerable  English  mitre-caps  on  their  heads,  sitting  in  the 
alcoves  of  the  library  or  playing  in  the  open  air,  or  in  their  formal 
debates,  in  the  seminary  or  in  the  festive  procession  on  class-day, 
—  sees  that  here  is  a  source  of  the  purest  and  subtlest  idealism 
going  out  into  American  life. 

On  such  a  foundation  rests  the  professional  training  of  the  real 
university.  Since  the  girl  students  in  all  the  colleges  of  the  coun- 
try outdo  the  men  in  their  studies,  win  the  highest  prizes,  and  attend 
the  most  difficult  lectures,  the  old  slander  about  deficient  brain 
substance  and  mental  incapacity  can  no  longer  serve  as  a  pretext 
for  closing  the  university  to  competing  womanhood.  In  fact,  the 
graduate  schools,  which  correspond  to  the  advanced  portion  of  a 
German  philosophical  faculty,  and  the  legal  and  medical  faculties 
of  all  state  universities  and  of  a  few  private  universities  are  open 
to  women.  But  one  is  not  to  suppose  that  the  number  of  women 
who  are  thus  preparing  for  the  learned  professions,  as  that  of 
medicine,  law,  or  the  ministry,  is  very  large.  There  are  to-day 
44,000  women  college  students,  but  only  1,253  women  graduate 
students;  and  in  1890  there  were  only  369.  There  are  hardly 
more  than  a  thousand  in  the  purely  professional  faculties,  and 
these  form  only  3  per  cent,  of  the  total  number  of  students. 
The  American  women  study  mostly  in  colleges,  therefore,  and 
their  aim  is  generally  to  get  a  well-grounded,  liberal  education, 
corresponding  to  a  Gymnasium  training,  together  with  a  few  semes- 
ters in  the  philosophical  faculty.  But  there  are  no  limitations  by 
principle;  woman  as  such  is  denied  no  "rights,"  and  the  verdict 
is  unanimous  that  this  national  experiment  is  technically  success- 
ful. There  is  no  indication  of  moral  deterioration,  of  a  lowered 
level  of  instruction,  or  of  a  mutual  hindrance  between  men  and 
women  in  the  matter  of  study.  The  university,  in  short,  opens  the 
way  to  the  learned  professions. 

When  a  European  hears  of  the  independent  careers  of  Ameri- 
can women,  he  is  apt  to  imagine  something  which  is  unknown  to 
him  —  a  woman  in  the  judicial  wig  or  the  minister's  robe ;  a  woman 
doctor  or  university  professor.  Thus  he  represents  to  himself  the 
self-supporting  women,  and  he  easily  forgets  that  their  number  is 
vanishingly  small  beside  the  masses  of  those  who  earn  their  living 
with  very  much  less  preparation.  The  professional  life  of  the 
American  woman,  her  instinct  to  support  herself,  and  so  to  make 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  567 

herself  equal  to  the  man  in  the  social  and  economic  worlds,  cannot 
be  understood  merely  from  figures;  for  statistics  would  show  a 
much  larger  percentage  of  women  in  other  countries  who  earn 
their  living,  where  the  instinct  for  independence  is  very  much  less. 
The  motive  is  the  main  point.  One  might  say  that  the  European 
woman  works  because  the  land  is  too  poor  to  support  the  family 
by  the  labour  of  the  man  alone.  The  American  woman  works 
because  she  wants  her  own  career.  In  travelling  through  Europe, 
one  notices  women  toiling  painfully  in  the  fields;  this  is  not  neces- 
sary in  America,  unless  among  the  negroes.  Passing  through 
New  England,  one  sees  a  hammock  in  front  of  every  farm-house, 
and  often  catches  the  sound  of  a  piano;  the  wives  and  daughters 
have  never  thought  of  working  in  the  fields.  But  women  crowd 
into  all  occupations  in  the  cities,  in  order  to  have  an  independent 
existence  and  to  make  themselves  useful.  They  would  rather 
work  in  a  factory  or  teach  than  to  stay  on  the  farm  and  spend 
their  time  at  house-work  or  embroidery. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  very  many  families  are  actually  in  need, 
and  innumerable  motives  may  lead  a  woman  to  the  earning  of  a 
living.  But  if  one  compares  the  changes  in  the  statistics  of  dif- 
ferent employments,  and  looks  into  the  psychology  of  the  different 
kinds  of  occupation,  one  sees  clearly  that  the  spirit  of  self-deter- 
mination is  the  decisive  factor,  and  that  women  compete  most 
strongly  in  the  professions  which  involve  some  rational  interest, 
and  that  they  know  where  it  pays  to  crowd  the  men  out.  There 
is  no  male  profession,  outside  of  the  soldiery  and  the  fire  depart- 
ment, into  which  women  have  not  felt  themselves  called.  Between 
the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  oceans  there  are  45  female  locomotive 
engineers,  31  elevator  attendants,  167  masons,  5  pilots,  196  black- 
smiths, 625  coal  miners,  3  auctioneers,  and  1,320  professional 
huntresses. 

Apart  from  such  curiosities,  and  looking  at  only  the  large  groups, 
we  shall  discover  the  following  professional  activity  of  women: 
In  1900,  when  the  last  census  was  made,  there  were  23,754,000 
men  and  5,319,000  women  at  paid  employment  —  that  is,  only  18 
per  cent,  of  the  bread-winners  were  women.  Of  these,  only  971,000 
were  engaged  in  agriculture  as  against  9,404,000  men,  while  in  the 
so-called  professions,  the  intellectual  occupations,  there  were  430,- 
ooo  women  against  828,000  men.  In  domestic  positions,  there  were 


568  THE  AMERICANS. 

2,095,000  women  against  3,485,000  men;  in  trade  there  were  503,- 
ooo  against  4,263,000,  and  in  manufactures  1,313,000  against 
5,772,000.  The  total  number  of  wage-earning  women  has  steadily 
increased.  In  1890  it  amounted  to  only  17  per  cent.,  and  in  1880 
to  only  15  per  cent.  The  proportions  in  different  parts  of  the 
country  are  different,  and  not  only  according  to  the  local  forms  of 
industry,  but  also  to  the  different  stages  of  civilization;  the  more 
advanced  the  civilization,  the  more  the  women  go  into  intellectual 
employments.  Among  a  hundred  wage-earning  women,  for  in- 
stance, in  the  North  Atlantic  States,  there  are  only  1.9  per  cent, 
engaged  in  agriculture,  but  7.6  per  cent,  in  intellectual  occupa- 
tions, 37.5  per  cent,  engaged  in  domestic  service,  12.9  per  cent,  in 
trade,  and  40.1  per  cent,  in  manufactures.  In  the  Southern  Mid- 
dle States,  on  the  other  hand,  out  of  a  hundred  women  only  7.2 
per  cent,  are  in  manufactures,  2.6  per  cent,  in  trade,  and  4.4  per 
cent  in  intellectual  professions. 

Of  these  occupations,  the  most  interesting  are  the  intellectual, 
domestic,  and  trading  activities  of  women.  The  great  majority 
in  intellectual  employments  are  teachers;  the  whole  story  of 
American  culture  is  told  by  the  fact  that  there  are  327,000  women 
pedagogues  —  an  increase  of  80,000  in  ten  years  —  and  only  1 1 1,- 
ooo  male  teachers.  The  number  of  physicians  has  increased  from 
4,557  in  1890  to  7,399  in  1900;  but  this  is  not  ominous  in  com- 
parison with  their  124,000  male  colleagues.  There  are  52,000 
musicians  and  music  teachers,  11,000  teachers  in  drawing,  5,984 
authors  —  a  figure  which  has  doubled  since  1890;  and  in  the  news- 
paper world  the  troup  of  women  reporters  and  journalists  has 
grown  in  ten  years  from  888  to  2,193.  There  are  8,000  women 
officials  employed  by  the  state,  over  1,000  architects  produce 
feminine  architecture,  and  3,405  ministers  preach  the  gospel. 

Turning  to  domestic  activity,  we  find  of  course  the  international 
corps  of  house-servants  to  include  the  greater  part;  they  number 
1,283,000,  and  the  statistics  do  not  say  whether,  perhaps,  one  or 
two  of  these  who  have  a  white  skin  were  born  in  the  country.  This 
number  was  1,216,000  in  1890,  so  that  it  has  increased  only  5.5 
per  cent.;  while  during  the  same  time  population  has  increased 
20.7  per  cent.,  and  the  increasing  wealth  has  greatly  raised  the 
demand  for  service.  Let  us  compare  with  this  the  increased  num- 
ber of  trained  nurses,  whose  occupation  is  an  arduous  but  in- 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  569 

dependent  and  in  itself  useful  career.  The  number  of  trained 
nurses  has  increased  from  41,000  to  108,000  —  that  is,  by  163  per 
cent.  The  figures  for  all  such  domestic  employments  as  admit 
of  social  independence  have  also  increased.  The  female  restau- 
rant keepers  have  increased  from  86,000  to  147,000;  the  boarding- 
house  proprietresses  number  59>455>  double  the  figure  often  years 
ago.  The  independent  profession  of  washer-woman  attracts  325,- 
ooo,  while  there  are  only  124,000  independent  domestic  labourers 
as  compared  with  2,454,000  men  in  the  same  occupations.  The 
increase  in  the  figures  for  such  free  professions  as  are  classed  under 
trade  and  commerce  is  in  part  even  more  striking.  The  number 
of  female  insurance  agents,  which  in  1890  was  less  than  5,000,  is 
now  more  than  10,000;  book-keepers  have  increased  from  27,000 
to  74,000;  sales-women,  from  58,000  to  149,000;  typists  and  ste- 
nographers from  21,000  to  86,000  —  that  is,  fourfold  —  and  there 
are  now  22,000  telephone  and  telegraph  operators.  The  number 
of  shop-keepers  at  34,000  has  not  increased  much,  and  is  relatively 
small  beside  the  756,000  men.  There  are  only  261  women  whole- 
sale merchants  against  42,000  men,  946  women  commercial  travel- 
lers against  91,000  men;  the  profession  of  lady  banker  has  de- 
creased shamefully  from  510  to  293,  although  this  is  no  ground 
for  despairing  of  the  future  of  American  banking,  since  the  num- 
ber of  bankers  other  than  women  has  increased  in  the  same  time 
from  35,000  to  72,000. 

Finally,  let  us  look  at  industry  and  manufactures.  The  num- 
ber of  seamstresses  has  been  the  same  for  ten  years  with  mathe- 
matical exactitude;  that  is,  146,000.  Since  the  population  has 
increased  by  one-fifth,  it  is  clear  that  this  form  of  work  has  been 
unpopular,  doubtless  because  it  involves  personal  abasement  and 
exposure  to  the  arbitrariness  of  customers,  and  is  therefore  un- 
favourable to  self-assertion.  At  the  same  time  the  workers  in 
woollen  and  cotton  factories  have  increased  from  92,000  to  120,- 
ooo,  in  silk  factories  from  20,000  to  32,000,  and  in  cigar  factories 
from  27,000  to  43,000.  There  are  344,000  garment-workers, 
86,000  milliners,  15,000  book-binders,  16,000  printers,  17,000  box- 
makers,  and  39,000  in  the  shoe  industry.  The  whole  picture 
shows  a  body  of  women  whose  labour  is  hardly  necessary  to 
support  the  families  of  the  nation,  but  who  are  firmly  resolved  to 
assert  themselves  in  economic  and  intellectual  competition,  who 


570  THE  AMERICANS 

press  their  way  into  all  sorts  of  occupations,  but  avoid  as  far  as 
possible  anything  which  restricts  their  personal  independence,  and 
seek  out  any  occupation  which  augments  their  personality  and 
their  consciousness  of  independence.  If  all  women  who  were 
not  born  on  American  soil,  or  if  so  were  born  of  coloured  parent- 
age, were  omitted  from  these  statistics,  then  the  self-asserting 
quality  of  American  women  who  earn  their  living  would  come  out 
incomparably  more  clearly. 

The  bread-winning  activity  of  women  is,  however,  only  a  frac- 
tion of  their  activity  outside  of  the  home.  If  of  the  39,000,000 
men  in  the  country,  23,754,000  have  an  occupation,  and  of  the 
37,000,000  women  only  5,319,000  work  for  a  living,  it  is  clear  that 
the  great  majority  of  grown-up  women  earn  nothing.  But  no- 
body who  knows  American  life  would  take  these  women  who  earn 
no  wages  from  the  list  of  those  who  exert  a  great  influence  outside 
of  the  family  circle,  and  assert  themselves  in  the  social  organiza- 
tion. Between  the  two  broad  oceans  there  is  hardly  any  signifi- 
cant movement  outside  of  trade  and  politics  which  is  not  aided  by 
unpaid  women,  who  work  purely  out  of  ideal  motives.  Vanity, 
ambition,  self-importance,  love  of  diversion,  and  social  aspirations 
of  all  kinds,  of  course,  play  a  part;  but  the  actual  labour  which 
women  perform  in  the  interests  of  the  church  or  school,  of  public 
welfare,  social  reform,  music,  art,  popular  education,  care  of  the 
sick,  beautification  and  sanitation  of  cities,  every  day  and  every- 
where, represents  incontestably  a  powerful  in-born  idealism. 

Only  one  motive  more,  which  is  by  no  means  unidealistic,  dic- 
tates this  purely  practical  devotion;  it  is  the  motive  of  helping 
on  this  very  self-assertion  of  women.  Work  is  done  for  the  sake 
of  work,  but  more  or  less  in  the  consciousness  that  one  is  a  woman 
and  that  whatever  good  one  does,  raises  the  position  of  the  sex. 
Thus,  in  women's  clubs  and  organizations,  through  noisy  agitation 
or  quieter  feminine  influences,  the  American  woman's  spirit  of 
self-assertion  impresses  itself  in  a  hundred  thousand  ways.  Women 
are  the  majority  in  every  public  lecture  and  in  every  broadly  benev- 
olent undertaking;  schools  and  churches,  the  care  of  the  poor  and 
the  ill  are  enlivened  by  their  zeal,  and  in  this  respect  the  East 
and  the  West  feel  quite  alike.  Certainly  this  influence  beyond  the 
home  does  not  end  with  direct  self-conscious  labour;  it  goes  on 
where  there  are  no  women  presidents,  secretaries,  treasurers,  and 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  571 

committee  members,  but  wherever  women  go  for  enjoyment  and 
relaxation.  Women  form  a  large  majority  in  art  exhibitions,  con- 
certs, theatres,  and  in  church  services;  women  decide  the  fate  of 
every  new  novel;  and  everywhere  women  stand  in  the  foreground, 
wide  awake  and  self-assertive. 

It  is  incredible  to  the  European  how  very  much  the  unselfish 
and  high-minded  women  of  America  are  able  to  accomplish,  and 
how  so  many  of  them  can  combine  a  vast  deal  of  practical  work 
with  living  in  the  midst  of  bustling  social  affairs,  and  themselves 
entertaining  perhaps  in  a  brilliant  way.  Such  a  woman  will  go 
early  in  the  morning  to  the  committee  meeting  of  her  club,  inspect 
a  school  or  poor-house  on  the  way,  then  help  to  draw  up  by-laws 
for  a  society,  deliver  an  address,  preside  at  some  other  meeting, 
and  meet  high  officials  in  the  interests  of  some  public  work. 
She  expends  her  energy  for  every  new  movement,  keeps  in  touch 
with  every  new  tendency  in  art  and  literature,  and  is  yet  a  pleasant 
and  comfortable  mother  in  her  own  home.  This  youthful  fresh- 
ness never  succumbs  to  age.  In  Boston,  the  widow  of  the  zoologist 
Agassiz,  although  now  eighty  years  of  age,  is  still  tirelessly  active 
as  honourary  president  of  RadclifFe  College;  and  Julia  Ward  Howe, 
the  well-known  poetess,  in  spite  of  her  eighty-four  years,  presides 
at  every  meeting  of  the  Boston  Authors'  Club,  still  with  her  quiet 
but  fresh  and  delightful  humour. 

The  leadership  of  women  which  is  a  problem  to  be  discussed, 
as  far  as  public  life  is  concerned,  is  an  absolute  dogma  which 
it  would  be  sacrilege  to  call  in  question,  so  far  as  social  and 
domestic  life  go.  Just  as  Lincoln  said  that  the  American  govern- 
ment is  a  government  "of  the  people,  by  the  people,  and  for  the 
people,"  so  certainly  American  society  is  a  government  of  the 
women,  by  the  women,  and  for  the  women.  The  part  which  the 
wife  plays  determines  so  unconditionally  the  social  status  of 
every  home,  that  even  a  man  who  has  his  own  social  ambitions  can 
accomplish  his  end  in  no  better  way  than  by  doing  everything  to 
further  the  plans  and  even  the  whims  of  his  wife.  And  the  luxury 
in  which  she  is  maintained  is  so  entirely  a  symbol  of  social  position 
that  the  man  comes  instinctively  to  believe  that  he  is  himself  enjoy- 
ing society  when  he  worries  and  over-works  in  order  to  provide 
jewelry  and  funds  for  the  elaborate  entertainments  of  his  wife. 

Just  as  the  wife  of  the  millionaire  has  her  place  arranged  to  suit 


572  THE  AMERICANS 

herself,  so  the  modest  townswoman  does  in  her  small  home,  and 
so  also  the  wife  of  the  day  labourer,  in  her  still  narrower  surround- 
ings. The  man  pushes  the  baby  carriage,  builds  the  kitchen  fire, 
and  takes  care  of  the  furnace,  so  that  his  wife  can  attend  to  getting 
fashionable  clothing;  he  denies  himself  cigars  in  order  to  send 
her  into  the  country  for  the  summer.  And  she  takes  this  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course.  She  has  seen  this  done  from  her  childhood  by  all 
men,  and  she  would  be  offended  if  her  husband  were  to  do  any- 
thing less.  The  American  woman's  spirit  of  self-assertion  would 
be  aroused  directly  if  social  equality  were  to  be  interpreted  in 
such  a  ridiculous  way  as  to  make  the  man  anything  but  the  social 
inferior. 

The  outward  noise  would  make  one  believe  that  the  self-asser- 
tion of  the  feminine  soul  were  most  energetically  concerned  with 
political  rights;  woman's  suffrage  is  the  great  watchword.  But 
the  general  noise  is  deceptive;  the  demands  for  equal  school  and 
college  education  for  young  women,  for  admission  to  industrial 
positions  on  the  same  footing  with  men,  for  an  independent  exist- 
ence and  life  career  for  every  woman  who  wants  it,  and  for  social 
domination  —  all  these  are  impulses  which  really  pervade  the  na- 
tional consciousness.  But  the  demand  for  equal  suffrage  is  not 
nearly  so  universal.  In  the  nature  of  things,  it  is  often  put  forth 
by  radical  lecturers  on  woman's  rights;  and  it  is  natural  that  some 
large  societies  support  the  efforts,  and  that  even  masculine  logic 
should  offer  no  objections  in  many  cases.  The  familiar  argu- 
ments known  to  all  the  world  have  hardly  been  augmented  by  a 
single  new  reason  on  the  woman's  side.  But  the  old  arguments 
appear  on  the  surface  to  be  such  sound  deductions  from  all  the 
fundamental  political,  social,  and  economic  principles  of  America 
that  they  come  here  to  have  new  force.  If  in  spite  of  this  their 
practical  success  is  still  exceedingly  small,  and  the  most  energetic 
opposition  is  not  from  the  stronger  sex  but  from  the  women  them- 
selves, it  shows  clearly  that  there  is  some  strong  opposing  impulse 
in  the  American  public  mind.  The  social  self-assertion  of  women, 
in  which  every  American  believes  with  all  his  heart,  is  just  as  little 
likely  ever  to  lead  to  universal  political  suffrage  for  women  as 
American  industrial  self-assertion  will  ever  lead  to  socialism. 

But  the  irony  of  world  history  has  brought  it  about  that  women 
began  with  just  those  rights  which  to-day  some  of  them  are  de- 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  573 

manding.  When  English  law  was  brought  across  the  ocean  by 
the  colonists  in  the  seventeenth  century,  the  women  had  the  con- 
stitutional right  to  vote,  and  in  exceptional  cases  made  use  of  it; 
not  one  of  the  constitutions  of  the  thirteen  states  limited  the  suf- 
frage to  men.  The  State  of  New  York  was  the  first  to  improve  or 
to  injure  its  constitution  by  adding  the  qualification  "male,"  in 
the  year  1778.  One  state  followed  after  another,  and  New  Jersey 
was  the  last,  in  1844.  But  just  as  the  last  door  was  closed,  the 
hue  and  cry  was  raised  that  they  all  ought  to  be  opened.  The 
first  woman's  convention  to  make  an  urgent  appeal  for  the  restor- 
ing of  these  rights  was  held  in  New  York  in  1848.  There  was  a 
violent  opposition;  but  the  movement  extended  to  a  great  many 
states,  and  finally,  in  1866,  a  national  organization  was  formed 
which  asked  for  a  national  law.  This  was  just  after  the  Civil 
War,  when  the  amendment  giving  the  suffrage  to  the  negroes  was 
the  chief  subject  of  political  discussion.  A  petition  with  eighty 
thousand  signatures  was  gotten  up  urging  that  the  Constitution 
should  be  interpreted  so  as  to  give  women  the  right  to  vote.  Two 
women  brought  legal  action,  which  went  up  through  all  the  courts 
to  the  Supreme  Court,  but  was  there  decided  against  the  women, 
and  therefore  the  sex  has  not  the  suffrage. 

No  national  movements  have,  therefore,  to-day  any  practical 
significance  unless  three-quarters  of  all  state  legislatures  can  be 
induced  to  vote  for  an  amendment  to  the  Constitution  in  favour 
of  woman's  suffrage  —  that  is,  to  vote  that  no  state  be  allowed  to 
exclude  women  from  the  ballot.  This  is  hardly  more  likely  to 
happen  than  a  Constitutional  amendment  to  introduce  hereditary 
monarchy.  Meanwhile,  the  agitation  in  the  various  states  has  by 
no  means  entirely  stopped.  Time  after  time  attempts  have  been 
made  to  alter  the  constitution  of  a  single  state,  but  unsuccessfully. 
The  only  states  to  introduce  complete  woman's  suffrage  have  been 
Wyoming  in  1869,  Colorado  in  1893,  an(^  Utah  in  1895.  Kansas 
allows  women  to  vote  in  municipal  elections.  The  agitation  has 
been  really  successful  in  only  one  direction;  it  has  succeeded  in 
getting  from  a  majority  of  the  states  the  right  to  vote  for  the  local 
school  committees. 

Such  experience  as  the  country  has  had  with  woman's  suffrage 
has  not  been  specially  favourable  to  the  movement.  A  good  deal 
goes  to  show  that,  even  if  full  privileges  were  granted,  they  would 


574  THE  AMERICANS 

remain  a  dead  letter  for  the  overwhelming  majority  of  women. 
The  average  woman  does  not  wish  to  go  into  politics.  It  has  been 
affirmed  that  in  the  modern  way  of  living,  with  servants  to  do  all 
the  house-work,  factories  to  do  the  spinning  and  weaving  and  every 
sort  of  economic  convenience,  the  married  woman  has  too  little 
to  do,  and  needs  the  political  field  in  which  to  give  her  energies 
free  play.  But  so  long  as  statistics  show  that  four-fifths  of  the 
married  women  in  the  country  do  all  their  house-work,  and  so 
long  as  such  a  great  variety  of  ethical,  intellectual,  aesthetic  and 
social  duties  lie  before  every  woman,  it  is  no  wonder  that  very 
few  are  eager  to  take  on  new  responsibilities  at  the  ballot-box. 
Those,  however,  who  would  make  most  use  of  the  suffrage  would 
be,  as  the  women  who  oppose  the  movement  say,  the  worst  fe- 
male element  of  the  large  cities,  and  they  would  bring  in  all  the 
worst  evils  of  a  low  class  of  voters  led  by  demagogues.  Political 
corruption  at  the  ballot 'would  receive  a  new  and  specially  dan- 
gerous impetus;  the  political  machines  would  win  new  and  dis- 
gusting strength  from  the  feebleness  of  these  women  to  resist 
political  pressure,  and  instead  of  women's  ennobling  and  refining 
political  ethics,  as  their  partisans  hope,  they  would  be  more  apt 
to  drag  politics  down  to  the  very  depths.  Those  who  oppose  the 
movement  see  a  decided  prejudice  to  political  soundness  even  in 
the  mere  numerical  doubling  of  the  voting  class. 

Most  of  all,  the  conservative  element  can  assert,  with  an  excellent 
array  of  facts,  that  the  healthy  progress  of  woman's  self-assertion 
best  proceeds  by  keeping  away  from  politics  and  turning  directly 
toward  the  improvement  of  the  conditions  of  living  and  of  in- 
struction, toward  the  opening  up  of  professions,  the  framing  of 
industrial  laws,  and-  other  reforms.  The  radical  political  de- 
mands of  women  in  all  other  fields,  and  most  especially  in  the 
socialistic  direction,  inclining  as  they  naturally  do  to  be  extreme, 
have  worked  rather  to  hinder  than  to  aid  the  social  progress 
of  women.  Even  where  the  social  independence  of  women  is 
properly  contested,  there  works  the  deterring  consideration  that 
politics  might  bring  about  differences  between  husband  and  wife. 
Taken  all  in  all,  the  self-assertion  of  women  in  political  matters 
is  hardly  a  practical  question.  One  who  looks  into  their  tracts 
and  propaganda  feels  for  a  long  while  that  the  last  one  he  has 
read,  on  which  ever  side  it  is,  is  wrong;  but  when  he  has  come  to 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  575 

a  point  where  he  meets  only  the  old  arguments  revamped,  he 
feels  that  on  the  whole  the  radical  side  has  still  less  justice  than 
the  other.  And  the  nation  has  come  to  the  same  conclusion.  We 
may  thus  leave  politics  quite  out  of  account  in  turning  finally  to 
the  main  question  which  relates  to  women;  this  is,  How  has  this 
remarkable  self-assertion  of  woman  affected  the  life  of  the  nation, 
both  on  the  whole  and  in  special  spheres  ? 

Let  us  look  first  at  the  sphere  of  the  family.  The  situation  here 
is  often  decidedly  misinterpreted;  the  frequent  divorces  in  America 
are  cited  very  often  in  order  to  put  American  family  life  in  an 
unfavourable  light.  According  to  the  census  report  of  1900,  the 
ratio  of  divorced  to  married  men  was  0.6  per  cent.,  and  of  women 
O.8  per  cent.;  while  in  1890  the  respective  figures  were  only  0.4 
per  cent,  and  0.6  per  cent.  Nevertheless,  the  total  number  of 
divorced  persons  is  only  0.3  per  cent,  of  the  whole  population,  as 
compared  with  5. 1  per  cent,  who  are  widows,  36.5  per  cent,  who  are 
married,  and  57.9  per  cent,  of  bachelors  —  with  a  small  remainder 
unaccounted  for.  It  is  true  that  divorced  persons  who  have  re- 
married are  here  included  among  the  married  persons;  but  even 
if  the  number  of  dissolved  marriages  is  somewhat  greater  than  it 
appears  in  the  statistics,  that  fact  shows  nothing  as  to  the  moral 
status  of  marriage  in  America. 

Anybody  familiar  with  the  country  knows  that,  much  more  often 
than  in  Europe,  the  real  grounds  which  lead  to  divorce  —  not  the 
mere  legal  pretexts  given  —  are  highly  ethical  ones.  We  have 
hinted  at  this  when  we  analyzed  the  religious  life;  the  main  reason 
is  the  ethical  objection  to  continuing  externally  in  a  marriage 
which  has  ceased  to  be  spiritually  congenial.  It  is  the  women 
especially,  and  generally  the  very  best  women,  who  prefer  to  take 
the  step,  with  all  the  hardships  which  it  involves,  to  prolonging  a 
marriage  which  is  spiritually  hypocritical  and  immoral.  Infidel- 
ity of  the  woman  is  the  ground  of  divorce  in  only  a  vanishingly 
small  number  of  cases,  and  the  sexual  purity  of  marriage  is  on  a 
high  plane  throughout  the  people.  The  pure  atmosphere  of  this 
somewhat  unemotional  people,  which  makes  it  possible  for  any 
woman  to  wend  her  way  without  escort  through  the  streets  of  a 
large  city  in  the  evening  and  to  travel  alone  across  the  Continent, 
and  which  protects  the  girl  on  the  street  from  being  stared  at  or 
rudely  accosted,  protects  even  more  the  married  woman.  Al- 


576  THE  AMERICANS 

though  French  society  dramas  are  presented  on  the  N  American 
stage,  one  feels  from  the  general  attitude  of  the  public  that  it 
really  fails  to  understand  the  psychology  of  what  is  being  per- 
formed, because  all  the  ethical  presuppositions  are  so  entirely 
different.  What  the  Parisian  finds  piquant,  the  New  Englander 
finds  shameless;  and  the  woman  over  whom  the  Frenchman  smiles 
disgusts  the  American. 

And  in  still  another  sense  American  marriage  is  purer  than  the 
European;  it  lacks  the  commercial  element.  As  characteristic  as 
this  fact  is  in  economic  life,  it  is  even  more  significant  in  social 
life.  This  does  not  mean  that  the  man  who  pays  court  to 
the  daughter  of  a  millionaire  is  entirely  unconscious  of  the 
economic  advantages  which  such  a  marriage  would  bring. 
But  the  systematic  searching  around  for  a  dowry,  with  some 
woman  attached  to  it,  is  unknown  in  the  New  World,  and  is  thor- 
oughly un-American.  This  may  be  seen  in  American  plays;  the 
familiar  German  comedies,  in  which  the  search  for  a  rich  bride  is 
a  favourite  motive,  strike  the  American  public  as  entirely  vapid 
and  humourless.  Americans  either  do  not  understand  or  else 
look  down  with  pity  on  the  marital  depravity  of  the  Old  World, 
and  such  stage  scenes  are  as  intrinsically  foreign  as  those  others, 
so  familiar  to  Europe,  in  which  the  rich  young  nobleman  who  after 
all  marries  the  poor  governess,  is  held  up  as  a  remarkable  example 
of  magnanimity. 

The  purely  human  elements  are  the  only  ones  which  count  in 
marriage.  It  is  a  congenial  affiliation  of  two  persons,  without 
regard  to  social  advantage  or  disadvantage,  if  only  the  persons  care 
for  each  other.  And  this  idea  is  common  to  the  whole  nation,  and 
gives  marriage  a  high  moral  status.  Moreover,  the  surpassing  edu- 
cation of  the  young  American  woman,  her  college  life,  works  in 
one  way  to  exalt  marriage.  If  she  has  learned  anything  in  her 
college  atmosphere,  it  is  moral  seriousness.  She  has  gone  there  to 
face  duties  squarely  and  energetically,  to  account  small  things 
small,  and  large  things  large;  and  so,  when  she  approaches  the  new 
duty  of  making  a  home,  she  overcomes  all  obstacles  there  with  pro- 
found moral  determination. 

In  spite  of  this,  one  may  ask,  Is  her  development  in  the  right 
direction  for  subsequent  events  ?  While  so  much  has  contributed 
to  the  exaltation  and  purity  of  her  marriage,  has  she  not  learned  a 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  577 

great  deal  else  which  tends  rather  indirectly  and  perhaps  unnotice- 
ably  to  disorganize  marriage,  the  home,  the  family,  and  the  peo- 
ple ?  Is  the  increasing  social  self-assertion  of  woman  really  in  the 
interests  of  culture  ?  Let  us  picture  to  ourselves  the  contrast,  say 
with  Germany.  There  too  the  interests  in  the  social  advance  of 
women  is  lively  on  all  sides;  but  the  situation  is  wholly  different. 
Four  main  tendencies  may  be  easily  picked  out.  One  relates  to  a 
very  small  number  of  exceptional  women  who  have  shown  great 
talent  or  perhaps  real  genius.  Such  women  are  to  be  emancipated 
and  to  have  their  own  life  career.  But  the  few  who  are  called  to  do 
great  things  in  art  or  science  or  otherwise,  are  not  very  apt  to  wait 
for  others  to  emancipate  them,  and  the  number  of  these  women  is 
so  small  that  this  movement  has  hardly  any  social  or  economic 
importance  in  comparison  with  the  other  three  which  concern 
large  numbers  of  women. 

Of  these  other  three,  the  first  concerns  the  women  of  the  lower 
classes,  who  throughout  Germany  are  so  poor  that  they  have  to 
earn  a  livelihood,  and  are  in  danger  of  sacrificing  their  family  life. 
The  lever  is  applied  to  improve  their  social  condition,  to  put  legal 
limits  to  the  labour  of  women,  and  to  protect  them,  so  that  the  poor 
man's  wife  shall  have  more  opportunities  in  the  family.  Another 
movement  is  to  benefit  the  daughters  of  more  well-to-do  people,  to 
give  them  when  they  marry,  a  more  intellectual  career,  to  elevate 
the  wife  through  a  broader  education  above  the  pettiness  of  purely 
domestic  interests  and  the  superficiality  of  ordinary  social  life, 
and  so  to  make  her  the  true  comrade  of  her  husband.  And  the 
last  movement  concerns  those  millions  of  women  who  cannot  marry 
because  women  are  not  only  the  more  numerous,  but  also  because 
one-tenth  of  German  men  will  not  marry.  They  are  urged  to 
replace  the  advantages  which  they  would  have  in  marriage  by 
a  life  occupation;  and  although  women  of  the  lower  classes  have 
had  enough  opportunity  to  work,  those  of  the  upper  classes  have 
until  recently  been  excluded  from  any  such  blessing.  A  great 
deal  has  been  done  here  to  improve  the  situation  and  partly  in 
direct  imitation  of  the  American  example. 

But  the  real  background  of  all  these  movements  in  Germany 
has  been  the  conviction  that  marriage  is  the  natural  destiny  of 
woman.  The  aim  has  been  to  improve  marriage  in  the  lower 
classes  by  relieving  the  woman  of  degrading  labour,  in  upper 


578  THE  AMERICANS 

classes  by  giving  the  woman  a  superior  education;  and  the  other 
two  movements  are  merely  expedients  to  supply  some  sort  of 
substitute  for  life's  profoundest  blessing,  which  is  found  only  in 
marriage.  There  is  no  such  background  in  America;  there  is  a 
desire  to  protect  American  marriage,  but  it  is  not  presupposed  that 
marriage  is,  in  and  of  itself,  the  highest  good  for  woman.  The 
completion  of  woman's  destiny  lies  rather  in  giving  to  her  as  to  the 
man  an  intrinsically  high  life  content  whether  she  is  married  or 
not  married;  it  is  a  question  of  her  individual  existence,  as  of  his. 
Marriage  is  thus  not  the  centre,  and  an  independent  career  is  in 
no  sense  a  compensation  or  a  makeshift;  even  the  betterment  of 
marriage  is  only  intended  as  a  means  of  bettering  the  individual. 
Woman  is  on  exactly  the  same  footing  as  man.  The  fundamental 
German  principle  that  woman's  destiny  is  found  in  marriage, 
while  the  man  is  married  only  incidentally,  involves  at  once  the 
inequality  of  the  sexes;  and  this  fundamental  inequality  is  only 
slightly  lessened  by  these  four  new  German  movements.  It  is  a 
secondary  consequence  that  the  woman  is  growing  to  be  more 
nearly  like  the  man.  But  according  to  the  American  point  of 
view,  her  fundamental  equality  is  the  foundation  principle;  both 
alike  aim  to  expand  their  individual  personalities,  to  have  their 
own  valuable  life  content,  and  by  marriage  to  benefit  each  other. 
And  only  secondarily,  after  marriage  is  accomplished,  does  the 
consequence  appear  that  necessarily  the  woman  has  her  special 
duties  and  her  corresponding  special  rights;  and  then  the  principle 
of  equality  between  the  two  finds  its  limitations.  Now  when  this 
takes  place,  the  self-assertion  of  the  American  woman  is  found  to 
be  not  wholly  favourable  to  the  institution  of  marriage;  it  gives  the 
married  woman  a  more  interesting  life  content,  but  it  inclines  the 
unmarried  woman  much  less  toward  marriage;  it  robs  society  of 
that  great  support  of  marriage  —  the  feeling  that  it  is  woman's 
destiny. 

Here,  again,  the  most  diverse  factors  work  together.  The 
social  freedom  of  communication  between  men  and  women,  the 
secure  propriety  of  associating  with  men,  and  the  independent 
freedom  to  go  about  which  is  peculiar  to  the  American  girl's  edu- 
cation give  to  the  unmarried  girl  all  those  rights  and  advantages 
which  in  Europe  she  does  not  have  until  she  is  married.  The 
American  girl  has  really  nothing  but  duties  to  face,  domestic  cares 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  579 

and  perhaps  quite  unaccustomed  burdens,  in  case  she  marries  a 
man  in  limited  circumstances;  externally  she  has  nothing  to  gain, 
and  internally  she  is  little  disturbed  by  any  great  passion.  She 
flirts  from  her  youth  up,  and  is  the  incomparable  mistress  of  this 
little  social  art;  but  the  moving  passion  is  apt  to  be  neglected,  and 
one  may  question  whether  all  her  mischievous  roguery  and  grace- 
ful coquetry  are  anything  more  than  a  social  accomplishment, 
like  dancing  or  skating  or  playing  golf  —  whether  it  in  any  way 
touches  the  heart.  It  is  a  diversion,  and  not  a  true  life  content. 

Then,  too,  the  girl  has  a  feeling  of  intellectual  superiority  which 
for  the  most  part  is  entirely  justified.  The  European  girl  has 
been  brought  up  to  believe  in  the  superiority  of  the  man,  accus- 
tomed to  feel  that  her  own  gifts  are  incomplete,  that  they  come  to 
have  real  value  only  in  conjunction  with  a  man,  and  her  inferior 
scientific  training  suggests  to  her  unconsciously  that  she  will  be  in- 
tellectually exalted  when  she  allies  herself  to  some  man.  That 
will  fill  out  her  intellectual  personality.  The  American  girl  has 
hardly  ever  such  an  idea;  she  has  learned  in  the  school-room  how 
foolish  boys  are,  how  lazy  and  careless,  and  then,  too,  she  has  con- 
tinued her  own  education  it  may  be  years  after  the  men  of  her 
acquaintance  have  gone  into  practical  life.  Many  high  schools 
have  one-third  of  their  pupils  boys  and  two-thirds  girls,  and  the 
ratio  grows  in  favour  of  the  girls.  Moreover,  everything  tends  to 
give  the  girl  her  own  aspirations  and  plans  independent  of  any  man 
—  aspirations  which  are  not  essentially  furthered  or  completed  by 
her  marriage  alliance.  American  women  often  laugh  at  the  way  in 
which  German  women  introduce  abstract  questions  at  the  Kaffee- 
klatsch:  "Now  my  husband  says — ."  The  intellectual  personality 
of  the  American  girl  must  develop  so  much  the  more  independ- 
ently of  male  influence  as  the  distinction  which  commences  in 
school  years  is  even  more  actual  in  the  years  of  maturity.  The  older 
the  American  man  grows  the  more  he  concentrates  himself  on 
business  or  politics,  while  his  wife  in  a  certain  way  continues  her 
schooling,  devotes  her  entire  time  to  every  sort  of  intellectual  stimu- 
lation; the  wife  reads  books,  while  the  husband  reads  newspapers. 
It  is  undeniable  that  in  the  average  American  home  the  woman 
makes  the  profounder  intellectual  impression  on  every  visitor, 
and  the  number  of  women  is  continually  growing  who  instinctively 
feel  that  there  is  no  advantage  in  marrying  a  man  who  is  intellectu- 


j8o  THE  AMERICANS 

ally  an  inferior;  they  would  rather  remain  single  than  contract  a 
marriage  in  which  they  have  to  be  the  intellectual  head. 

While,  therefore,  there  are  neither  novel  social  advantages  nor 
any  emotional  urgency,  nor  yet  intellectual  inducements,  to  per- 
suade women  to  marry,  there  are  other  circumstances  which  urge 
her  strongly  not  to  do  so.  In  the  first  place,  marriage  may  inter- 
fere directly  with  the  life  career  which  she  has  planned  for  herself. 
A  woman  who  has  taken  an  occupation  to  save  herself  from  misery 
looks  on  marriage  with  a  man  who  earns  enough  to  support 
a  family  as  a  sort  of  salvation;  while  the  woman  who  has  chosen 
some  calling  because  her  life  means  so  much  more  if  it  is  useful  to 
the  world,  who  is  earnestly  devoted  to  her  work,  truly  ambitious 
and  thoroughly  competent,  ponders  a  long  time  before  she  goes 
into  a  marriage  which  necessarily  puts  an  end  to  all  this.  She 
may  well  prefer  to  sacrifice  some  sentimental  inclination  to  the 
profound  interest  she  feels  in  her  work. 

The  American  girl  is,  moreover,  not  fond  of  domestic  cares. 
It  would  not  be  fair  to  say  that  she  is  a  bad  house-keeper,  for  the 
number  of  wives  who  have  to  get  along  without  servants  is  much 
greater  than  in  Germany.  And  even  in  spite  of  the  various 
economic  advantages  which  she  enjoys,  it  is  undeniable  that  the 
American  woman  takes  her  home  duties  seriously,  looks  after 
every  detail,  and  keeps  the  whole  matter  well  in  hand.  But  never- 
theless, she  feels  very  differently  toward  her  capacities  along  this 
line.  The  German  woman  feels  that  her  household  is  a  source  of 
joy;  the  American  woman,  that  it  is  a  necessary  evil.  The  Ameri- 
can woman  loves  to  adorn  her  home  and  tries  to  express  in  it  her 
own  personality,  not  less  than  her  German  sister;  but  everything 
beyond  this  —  the  mere  technique  of  house-keeping,  cleaning,  pur- 
chasing, repairing,  and  hiring  servants  —  she  feels  to  be,  after  all, 
somewhat  degrading.  The  young  woman  who  has  been  to  col- 
lege attacks  her  household  duties  seriously  and  conscientiously, 
but  with  the  feeling  that  she  would  rather  sacrifice  herself  by  nurs- 
ing the  suffering  patients  in  a  hospital.  The  perfect  economic 
appliances  for  American  house-keeping  save  a  great  deal  of  labour 
which  the  German  wife  has  to  perform,  and  perhaps  just  on  that 
account  the  American  woman  feels  that  the  rest  of  it  is  vexatious 
work  which  women  have  to  do  until  some  new  machines  can  be 
devised  to  take  their  places.  This  disinclination  to  household 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  581 

drudgery  pervades  the  whole  nation,  and  it  is  only  the  older  gener- 
ations in  country  districts  that  take  a  pride  in  their  immaculate 
house-keeping,  while  the  younger  generations  even  there  have  the 
tendency  to  shirk  household  work.  The  daughters  of  farmers 
would  rather  work  in  a  factory,  because  it  is  so  much  more  stimu- 
lating and  lively,  than  ironing  or  washing  dishes  or  tending  baby 
brother  and  sister  at  home;  for  the  same  reason,  they  will  not 
become  domestic  servants  for  any  one  else.  And  so,  for  the 
upper  and  the  lower  classes,  the  disinclination  to  house-work 
stands  very  much  in  the  way  of  marriage. 

This  disinclination  affects  marriage  in  still  another  way.  Fam- 
ilies are  tending  more  and  more  to  give  up  separate  houses  and  live 
in  family  hotels,  or,  if  more  modestly  circumstanced,  in  boarding- 
houses.  The  expense  of  servants  has  something  to  do  with  this, 
but  the  more  important  factor  is  the  saving  of  work  for  the  wife. 
The  necessary  consequence  is  the  dissolution  of  intimate  family 
life.  When  a  dozen  families  eat  year  in  and  year  out  in  the  same 
dining-room,  the  close  relations  which  should  prevail  in  the  family 
take  on  a  very  different  shading.  And  thus  it  is  that  the  intellectual 
self-assertion  of  women  works,  in  the  most  diverse  ways,  against 
the  formation  of  marriages  and  against  family  life.  There  is  one 
argument,  however,  which  is  always  urged  by  the  opponents  of 
woman's  emancipation  which  is  not  valid — at  least,  not  for 
America.  It  is  the  blue-stocking  bugbear.  This  unattractive  type 
of  woman  is  not  produced  by  higher  education  in  America.  Many 
a  young  American  girl,  who  has  arrived  at  years  of  personal 
independence  during  her  college  life,  may  have  lost  her  interest  in 
the  average  sort  of  marriage;  but  she  has  by  no  means  lost  the 
attraction  she  exerts  on  men. 

The  tendency  of  woman's  self-assertion  against  marriage  appears 
to  go  even  further;  the  exaggerated  expression,  "race  suicide,"  has 
sometimes  been  used.  It  is  true  that  the  increase  of  native  popu- 
lation, especially  in  the  more  civilized  parts  of  the  country,  is  omi- 
nously small;  this  is  probably  the  result  of  diverse  factors.  There 
are  physicians,  for  instance,  who  claim  that  the  intellectual  training 
of  women  and  the  nervous  excitement  incident  to  their  independ- 
ent, self-reliant  attitude  are  among  the  main  causes;  but  more 
important,  others  say,  are  the  voluntary  precautions  which  are  dic- 
tated by  the  desire  of  ease  and  comfort.  This  last  is  a  serious 


582  THE  AMERICANS 

factor,  and  there  lies  behind  it  again  the  spirit  of  self-assertion; 
the  woman  wants  to  live  out  her  own  life,  and  her  individual- 
istic instinct  works  against  the  large  family.  But  there  is  nothing 
here  which  threatens  the  whole  nation;  since,  even  aside  from 
the  very  large  immigration  which  introduces  healthy,  prolific, 
and  sturdy  elements,  the  births  of  the  whole  country  exceed  those 
of  almost  any  of  the  European  nations.  In  Germany,  between  1890 
and  1900,  for  every  thousand  inhabitants  the  births  numbered  an- 
nually 36.2  and  the  deaths  22.5  —  so  that  there  were  13.7  more 
births;  in  England  the  births  were  30.1  and  deaths  18.4,  with  a 
difference  of  11.7;  in  the  United  States  the  births  were  35.1  and 
deaths  17.4,  with  a  difference  of  17.7  more  births. 

Of  course,  these  figures  would  make  all  anxiety  seem  ridiculous, 
if  the  proportions  were  equally  distributed  over  the  country,  and 
through  all  the  elements  of  the  population.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
however,  there  are  the  greatest  differences.  In  Massachusetts,  for 
instance,  we  may  distinguish  three  classes  of  population;  those 
white  persons  whose  parents  were  born  in  the  country,  and  those 
whose  parents  were  foreigners,  and  the  blacks.  This  negro  popu- 
lation of  Massachusetts  has  the  same  birth  and  death  rate  as  the 
negro  elsewhere;  for  every  thousand  persons  there  are  17.4  more 
births  than  deaths.  For  the  second  class  — that  is,  the  families  of 
foreign  parentage — there  are  actually  45.6  more  births  than  deaths; 
while  in  the  white  families  of  native  parentage  there  are  only  3.8. 
In  some  other  North  Atlantic  States,  the  condition  is  still  worse;  in 
New  Hampshire,  for  instance,  the  excess  of  births  in  families  of 
foreign  parentage  is  58.5,  while  in  those  of  native  parentage  the 
situation  is  actually  reversed,  and  there  are  10.4  more  deaths  than 
births.  So  it  happens  that  for  all  the  New  England  States,  the 
native  white  population,  in  the  narrower  sense,  has  a  death  pre- 
ponderance of  1.5  for  every  thousand  inhabitants;  so  that,  in  the  in- 
tellectually superior  part  of  the  country,  the  strictly  native  popula- 
tion is  not  maintaining  itself. 

Interesting  statistics  recently  gathered  at  Harvard  University 
show  that  its  graduates  are  also  not  holding  their  own.  Out 
of  88 1  students  who  were  graduated  more  than  twenty-five 
years  ago,  634  are  married,  and  they  have  1,262  children. 
On  the  probable  assumption  that  they  will  have  no  more 
children,  and  that  these  are  half  males,  we  find  that  88 1 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  583 

student  graduates  in  1877  leave  in  1902  only  631  sons.  The 
climatic  conditions  cannot  be  blamed  for  this,  since  the  sur- 
plus of  births  in  families  born  of  foreign  parents  is  not  only  very 
great,  but  is  far  greater  than  in  any  of  the  European  countries 
from  which  these  immigrant  parents  came.  Of  European  coun- 
tries, Hungary  has  the  greatest  excess  of  births  —  namely,  40.5,  as 
compared  with  13.7  in  Germany.  That  population  of  America 
which  comes  from  German,  Irish,  Swedish,  French,  and  Italian 
parentage  has,  even  in  New  England,  a  birth  surplus  of  44.5.  The 
general  conditions  of  the  country  seem,  therefore,  favourable  to 
fecundity,  and  this  casts  a  greater  suspicion  on  social  conditions 
and  ideals.  And  the  circumstance  must  not  be  overlooked,  that  the 
increased  pressure  of  women  into  wage-earning  occupations  lessens 
the  opportunities  of  the  men,  and  so  contributes  indirectly  to  pre- 
vent the  man  from  starting  his  home  early  in  life.  In  short,  from 
whatever  side  we  look  at  it,  the  self-assertion  of  woman  exalts  her 
at  the  expense  of  the  family  —  perfects  the  individual,  but  injures 
society;  makes  the  American  woman  perhaps  the  finest  flower  of 
civilization,  but  awakens  at  the  same  time  serious  fears  for  the 
propagation  of  the  American  race. 

There  are  threatening  clouds  in  other  quarters  of  the  horizon. 
The  much-discussed  retroactive  effect  of  feminine  emancipation 
on  the  family  should  not  distract  attention  from  its  effect  on  cul- 
ture as  a  whole.  Here  the  dissimilarity  to  the  German  conditions 
is  obvious.  The  German  woman's  movement  aims  to  give  the 
woman  a  most  significant  role  in  general  matters  of  culture,  but 
still  does  not  doubt,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  the  general  trend  of 
culture  will  be  determined  by  the  men.  Just  as  it  is  a  dogmatic 
presupposition  in  Germany  that  marriage  is  the  most  desirable 
occupation  for  women,  so  it  is  tacitly  presupposed  that  intellectual 
culture  will  take  its  actual  stamp  from  the  men.  In  America  not 
only  this  view  of  marriage,  but  even  this  view  of  culture,  has  been 
opposed  for  a  long  time;  and  the  people  behave  as  if  both  were 
antiquated  and  superstitious  notions,  devised  by  the  stronger  sex 
for  its  own  convenience,  and  as  if  their  reversal  would  benefit  the 
entire  race. 

Anybody  who  looks  the  matter  squarely  in  the  face  is  not  left  to 
doubt  that  everything  in  America  is  tending  not  only  to  sacrifice  the 
superiority  of  man  and  to  give  the  woman  an  equal  position,  but  to 


$8+  THE  AMERICANS 

reverse  the  old  situation  and  make  her  very  much  the  superior.  In 
business,  law,  and  politics,  the  American  man  is  still  sovereign,  and 
in  spite  of  the  many  women  who  press  into  the  mercantile  profes- 
sions he  is  still  in  a  position  where  he  serves  rather  than  directs. 
And  it  is  very  characteristic  of  the  moral  purity  of  the  people  that, 
in  spite  of  the  incomparable  social  power  of  women,  they  have  not 
a  trace  of  personal  influence  on  important  political  events.  On 
the  other  hand,  they  dictate  in  matters  of  education,  religion, 
literature  and  art,  social  problems,  and  public  morals.  Painting, 
music,  and  the  theatre  cater  to  woman,  and  for  her  the  city  is 
beautified  and  purified;  although  she  does  not  do  it  herself,  it  is 
her  taste  and  feeling  which  decide  everything;  she  determines 
public  opinion,  and  distributes  all  the  rewards  at  her  good  pleas- 
ure. If  the  family  problem  is  shown  in  a  lurid  light  by  the 
decrease  of  births  in  the  native  New  England  population,  the 
problem  of  culture  comes  out  into  broad  daylight  only  in  those 
figures  which  we  have  seen  before;  the  327,614  women  teachers 
and  the  111,710  men. 

Thus  three-quarters  of  American  education  is  administered  by 
women;  and  even  in  the  high  school  where  the  boys  go  till  they  are 
eighteen  or  nineteen  years  old,  57.7  per  cent,  of  the  teachers  are 
women;  and  in  those  normal  schools  where  both  men  and  women 
go  to  fit  themselves  for  teaching,  71.3  per  cent,  of  the  instructors  are 
women.  It  appears,  then,  that  the  young  men  of  the  country,  even 
in  the  years  when  boyhood  ripens  to  youth,  receive  the  larger  part 
of  their  intellectual  impetus  from  women  teachers,  and  that  all  of 
those  who  are  going  to  be  school  teachers  and  shape  the  young  souls 
of  the  nation  are  in  their  turn  predominantly  under  the  influence 
of  women.  In  colleges  and  universities  this  is  still  not  the  case,  but 
soon  will  be  if  things  are  not  changed;  the  great  number  of  young 
women  who  pass  their  doctorial  examinations  and  become  special- 
ists in  science  will  have  more  and  more  to  seek  university  pro- 
fessorships, or  else  they  will  have  studied  in  vain.  And  here,  as 
in  the  school,  the  economic  conditions  strongly  favour  the  woman; 
since  she  has  no  family  to  support,  she  can  accept  a  position  on 
a  salary  so  much  smaller  that  the  man  is  more  and  more  crowded 
from  the  field.  And  it  may  be  clearly  foreseen  that,  if  other  social 
factors  do  not  change,  women  will  enter  as  competitors  in  every 
field  where  the  labour  does  not  require  specifically  masculine 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  585 

strength.  So  it  has  been  in  the  factories;  so  it  is  in  the  schools; 
and  so,  in  a  few  decades,  it  may  be  in  the  universities  and  in  the 
churches. 

Even  although  the  professorial  chairs  still  belong  for  the  most 
part  to  men,  the  presence  of  numerous  women  in  the  auditorium 
cannot  be  wholly  without  influence  on  the  routine  of  work.  The 
lecturer  is  forced  to  notice,  as  is  the  speaker  in  any  public  gather- 
ing, that  at  least  two-thirds  of  his  hearers  present  the  cheerful 
aspect  of  gay  millinery  and  lace  collar,  so  that  intellectual  culture 
and  public  opinion  on  non-political  questions  come  more  and  more 
to  be  dominated  by  women  — as  many  persons  are  beginning  to  see. 
Most  of  them  greet  this  unique  turn  in  human  history  as  the  pecu- 
liar advantage  of  this  nation;  the  man  looks  after  the  industry  and 
politics,  and  the  woman  after  moral,  religious,  artistic,  and  intel- 
lectual matters.  If  there  is  any  doubt  that  she  is  competent  to  do 
this,  most  Americans  are  satisfied  to  observe  the  earnestness  and 
conscientiousness  with  which  the  American  woman  attends  to  her 
duties,  at  the  zeal  and  success  with  which  she  applies  herself  to  her 
studies,  and  at  her  victory  over  men  wherever  she  competes. 

Here  and  there,  however,  and  their  number  is  increasing  every 
day,  men  are  feeling  that  earnestness  is  not  necessarily  power,  zeal 
is  not  mastery,  and  that  success  means  little  if  the  judgment  is  pro- 
nounced by  those  who  are  partial  to  the  winners.  The  triumph 
in  industrial  competition  is  no  honour  if  it  consists  in  bidding  under 
the  market  price.  In  fact,  it  is  not  merely  a  question  of  the  divi- 
sion of  labour,  but  a  fundamental  change  in  the  character  of  the 
labour.  An  impartial  observer  of  the  achievements  of  American 
women  as  teachers  or  as  university  students,  in  professional  life  or 
social  reform  or  any  other  public  capacity,  is  forced  to  admire  the 
performance,  and  even  to  recognize  certain  unique  merits;  but  he 
has  to  admit  that  it  is  a  special  sort  of  work,  and  different  from  the 
achievements  of  men.  The  emancipation  of  the  American  woman 
and  her  higher  education,  although  carried  almost  to  the  last  ex- 
treme, give  not  the  slightest  indication  even  yet  that  woman  is  able 
to  accomplish  in  the  intellectual  field  the  same  that  man  accom- 
plishes. What  she  does  is  not  inferior,  but  it  is  entirely  different; 
and  the  work  which,  in  all  other  civilized  countries,  is  done  by  men 
cannot  in  the  United  States  be  slipped  into  the  hands  of  women 
without  being  profoundly  altered  in  character. 


586  THE  AMERICANS 

The  feminine  mind  has  the  tendency  to  unify  all  ideas,  while  a 
man  rather  separates  independent  classes.  Each  of  these  posi- 
tions has  advantages  and  drawbacks.  The  immediate  products 
of  the  feminine  temperament  are  tactfulness  and  aesthetic  insight, 
sure  instincts,  enthusiasm,  and  purity;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
a  lack  of  logical  consecutiveness,  a  tendency  to  over-hasty  gen- 
eralization, under-estimation  of  the  abstract  and  the  deep,  and 
an  inclination  to  be  governed  by  feeling  and  emotion.  Even 
these  weaknesses  may  be  beautiful  in  domestic  life  and  attractive 
in  the  social  sphere;  they  soften  the  hard  and  bitter  life  of  men. 
But  women  have  not  the  force  to  perform  those  public  duties 
of  civilization  which  need  the  harder  logic  of  man.  If  the  entire 
culture  of  the  nation  is  womanized,  it  will  be  in  the  end  weak  and 
without  decisive  influence  on  the  progress  of  the  world. 

The  intellectual  high  life  in  colleges  and  universities,  which 
seems  to  speak  more  clearly  for  the  intellectual  equality  of  women, 
brings  out  exactly  this  difference.  That  which  is  accomplished 
by  the  best  women's  colleges  is  exemplary  and  admirable;  but  it  is 
in  a  world  which  is,  after  all,  a  small  artificial  world,  with  all  rough 
places  smoothed  over  and  illumined  with  a  soft  light  instead  of  the 
hard  daylight.  Although  in  the  mixed  universities  women  often 
do  better  than  men,  it  is  not  to  be  forgotten  that  the  American 
lecture  system,  with  its  many  examinations,  puts  a  higher  value  on 
industry,  attention,  and  good-will  than  on  critical  acumen  or  logi- 
cal creativeness.  It  cannot  be  denied  that,  even  a  short  time 
since,  the  American  university  cultivated  in  every  department  the 
spirit  of  learning  rather  than  of  investigation  — was  reproductive 
rather  than  productive  —  and  that  the  more  recent  development 
which  has  laid  the  emphasis  on  productive  investigation  has  gone 
on  for  the  most  part  in  the  leading  Eastern  universities,  such  as 
Harvard,  Johns  Hopkins,  Columbia,  Yale,  and  Princeton,  where 
women  are  still  not  admitted,  while  the  Western  universities,  and 
most  of  all  the  state  universities,  which  are  found  only  in  the 
West,  where  women  are  in  a  majority,  belong  in  many  respects 
to  the  old  type.  To  be  sure,  there  are  several  American  women 
whose  scientific  work  is  admirable,  and  to  be  classed  with  the 
best  professional  achievements  of  the  country;  but  they  are  still 
rare  exceptions.  The  tendency  to  learn  rather  than  to  produce 
pervades  all  the  great  masses  of  women;  they  study  with  extra- 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  587 

ordinary  zeal  up  to  the  point  where  critical  production  should 
begin,  and  there  they  are  all  too  apt  to  stop.  And  unless  one  per- 
sistently looks  at  the  very  few  exceptions,  one  would  hardly  assert 
that  the  true  spirit  of  science  could  unfold  and  grow  if  American 
women  were  to  be  its  only  guardians. 

This  distinction  is  much  plainer  in  the  lower  walks  of  life.  The 
half-educated  American  man  refrains  from  judging  what  is  be- 
yond his  scope;  but  an  American  woman  who  has  scarcely  a  shred 
of  education  looks  in  vain  for  any  subject  on  which  she  has  not  firm 
convictions  already  at  hand,  and  her  influence  upon  public  opin- 
ion —  politics  always  apart  —  spins  a  web  of  triviality  and  mis- 
conception over  the  whole  culture.  Cobwebs  are  not  ropes,  and 
a  good  broom  can  sweep  them  down;  but  the  arrogance  of  this 
feminine  lack  of  knowledge  is  the  symptom  of  a  profound  trait  in 
the  feminine  soul,  and  points  to  dangers  springing  from  the  domi- 
nation of  women  in  intellectual  life.  In  no  other  civilized  land  is 
scientific  medicine  so  systematically  hindered  by  quack  doctors, 
patent  medicines,  and  mental  healing;  the  armies  of  uneducated 
women  protect  them.  And  in  no  other  civilized  land  are  ethi- 
cal conceptions  so  worm-eaten  by  superstitions  and  spiritualistic 
hocus-pocus;  hysterical  women  carry  the  day.  In  no  other  coun- 
try is  the  steady  and  sound  advance  of  social  and  pedagogical  re- 
form so  checked  by  whimsies  and  short-lived  innovations,  and 
good  sound  work  held  back  by  the  partisans  of  confused  ideas; 
here  the  women  work  havoc  with  their  social  and  pedagog- 
ical alarms. 

This  does  not  mean,  however,  that  a  good  deal  of  the  work  of 
American  women  is  not  better  done  by  them  than  it  would  be  by 
the  men.  In  the  first  place,  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  assistance 
of  women  in  teaching  has  had  very  happy  results  on  American  cul- 
ture. When  it  was  necessary  to  tame  the  wild  West  of  its  pio- 
neer roughness  and  to  introduce  good  manners,  the  milder  influ- 
ence of  women  in  the  school-room  was  far  more  useful  than  that 
of  men  could  have  been;  and  so  far  as  it  is  a  question  of  making 
over  the  immigrant  children  of  the  large  cities  into  young  Ameri- 
cans, the  patient  woman  teacher  is  invaluable.  And  the  drama 
of  the  school-room  is  played  in  other  more  public  places;  in  a 
thousand  ways  the  participation  of  women  in  public  life  has  re- 
fined and  toned  down  American  culture  and  enriched  and  beauti- 


588  THE  AMERICANS 

fied  it,  but  not  made  it  profounder  or  stronger.  Woman's  inborn 
dilettanteism  works  too  often  for  superficiality  rather  than  pro- 
fundity. 

And  it  is  indubitable  that  this  undertaking  of  the  burdens  of 
intellectual  culture  by  woman  has  been  necessary  to  the  nation's 
progress — a  kind  of  division  of  labour  imperatively  indicated  by  the 
tremendous  economic  and  political  duties  which  have  precocupied 
the  men.  No  European  country  has  ever  had  to  accomplish  eco- 
nomically, technically,  and  politically,  in  so  short  a  time,  that  which 
the  United  States  has  accomplished  in  the  last  fifty  years  in  per- 
fecting its  civilization.  The  strength  of  the  men  has  been  so  thor- 
oughly enlisted  that  intellectual  culture  could  not  have  been  de- 
veloped or  even  maintained  if  the  zeal  and  earnestness  of  women 
had  not  for  a  time  taken  up  the  work.  But  is  this  to  be  only  for  a 
time  ?  Will  the  man  bethink  himself  that  his  political  and  eco- 
nomic one-sidedness  will  in  the  end  hurt  the  nation  ?  This  is  one  of 
the  greatest  questions  for  the  future  of  this  country.  It  is  not  a 
question  of  woman's  retrograding  or  losing  any  of  her  splendid 
acquirements;  no  one  could  wish  that  this  fine  intellectuality,  this 
womanly  seriousness,  this  desire  for  a  meaning  in  her  life  should 
be  thoughtlessly  sacrificed,  nor  that  the  sisters  and  the  mothers  of 
the  nation  should  ever  become  mere  dolls  or  domestic  machines. 
Nothing  of  this  should  be  lost  or  needs  to  be  lost.  But  a  compen- 
satory movement  must  be  undertaken  by  the  men  of  the  country 
in  order  to  make  up  for  amateurish  superficiality  and  an  inconse- 
quential logic  of  the  emotions. 

In  itself,  the  intellectual  domination  of  the  women  will  have  the 
tendency  to  strengthen  itself,  the  more  the  higher  life  bears  the 
feminine  stamp.  For  by  so  much,  men  are  less  attracted  to  it. 
Thus  the  number  of  male  school  teachers  becomes  smaller  all  the 
time,  because  the  majority  of  women  teachers  makes  the  school 
more  and  more-  a  place  where  a  man  does  not  feel  at  home.  But 
other  factors  in  public  opinion  work  strongly  in  the  opposite 
direction;  industrial  life  has  made  its  great  strides,  the  land  is 
opened  up,  the  devastations  of  the  Civil  War  are  repaired,  inter- 
nal disturbances  have  yielded  to  internal  unity,  recognition  among 
the  world  powers  has  been  won,  and  within  a  short  time  the  wealth 
of  the  country  has  increased  many  fold.  It  will  be  a  natural 
reaction  if  the  energies  of  men  are  somewhat  withdrawn  from 


SELF-ASSERTION  OF  WOMEN  589 

industry  and  agriculture,  from  politics  and  war,  and  once  more  be- 
stowed on  things  intellectual.  The  strength  of  this  reaction  will 
decide  whether  the  self-assertion  of  the  American  women  will,  in 
the  end,  have  been  an  unalloyed  blessing  to  the  country  or  an 
affliction.  Woman  will  never  contribute  momentously  to  the  cul- 
ture of  the  world  by  remaining  intellectually  celibate. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE 

Aristocratic    Tendencies 

IN  the  caricatures  of  the  American  which  are  so  gladly  drawn 
by  the  European,  and  so  innocently  believed  in,  there  is  gen- 
erally, beside  the  shirt-sleeved  clown  who  bawls  "equality" 
and  the  barbarian  who  chases  the  dollar,  the  rich  heiress  bent 
on  swapping  her  millions  for  a  coronet.  The  longing  for  bankrupt 
suitors  of  undoubted  pedigree  is  supposed  to  be  the  one  symp- 
tom of  any  social  aspiration,  which  the  Yankee  exhibits.  The 
American  begs  leave  to  differ.  He  is  not  surprised  that  the  young 
American  woman  of  good  family,  with  her  fine  intellectual  fresh- 
ness and  her  faculty  of  adaptation,  should  be  sought  out  by 
men  of  all  nations;  nor  is  he  filled  with  awe  if  there  are  some 
suitors  of  historic  lineage  among  the  rest.  But  the  day  is  long 
gone  in  which  such  marriages  are  looked  on  as  an  enviable  piece  of 
good  fortune  for  the  daughter  of  any  American  citizen.  Even  the 
newspapers  lightly  smile  at  such  marriages  to  a  title,  and  they 
are  becoming  less  and  less  frequent  in  the  really  best  circles  of 
American  society.  Besides,  no  such  cheap  and  superficial  aspira- 
tions are  really  indicative  of  aristocratic  tendencies.  The  Ameri- 
can is,  by  principle,  very  far  from  making  his  way  into  the  inter- 
national aristocracy  of  Europe,  and  he  neither  does  nor  will  he  ever 
attempt  any  artificial  imitation  of  aristocratic  institutions. 

It  is  a  capital  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  American,  put  face  to 
face  with  European  princedom,  forgets  or  tries  to  hide  his  democ- 
racy. Aristocratic  institutions,  particularly  those  of  England,  in- 
terest him  as  a  bit  out  of  history;  he  seeks  such  social  contact  just 
as  he  wanders  through  quaint  castles,  without  wishing  thereby  to 
transfer  his  own  country  house  on  the  Hudson  into  a  decaying 
group  of  walls  and  turrets.  He  takes  an  aesthetic  pleasure  in  the 
brilliancy  of  courts,  the  pomp  of  military  life,  the  wealth  and  colour 


ARISTOCRATIC  TENDENCIES  591 

of  symbols;  and,  quite  independently  of  that,  he  feels  indeed  a 
lively  interest  in  certain  fascinating  figures  of  European  politics  — 
most  of  all,  perhaps,  in  the  German  Kaiser.  But  whether  his  inter- 
est is  historical,  aesthetic,  or  personal,  it  is  never  accompanied  by 
any  feeling  of  inferiority  to  the  persons  who  represent  these  aristo- 
cratic institutions.  When  Prince  Henry,  on  his  visit  to  the  New 
World,  quickly  won  the  hearts  of  Americans  as  a  man,  there  was 
nothing  in  the  tone  or  accent  of  the  greetings  addressed  to  him 
which  was  out  of  accord  with  the  fundamental  key  of  democracy. 
The  dinner  speakers  commenced  their  speeches  in  the  democratic 
fashion,  which  is  always  first  to  address  the  presiding  host:  "  Mr. 
Mayor,  your  Royal  Highness." 

At  the  same  time  the  peculiarly  democratic  contempt  for  things 
monarchical  is  disappearing,  too;  the  cultivated  American  feels  in- 
creasingly that  every  form  of  state  has  arisen  from  historic  condi- 
tions, and  that  one  is  not  in  and  for  itself  better  than  another.  He 
feels  that  he  is  not  untrue  to  his  republican  fatherland  in  attesting 
his  respect  for  crowned  heads.  He  shows  most  of  all  his  respect, 
because  it  is  just  the  friendly,  neighbourly  intercourse  which  makes 
possible  a  relation  of  mutual  recognition.  Democracy  is  itself  the 
gainer  by  giving  up  the  absurd  pose  of  looking  down  on  aristocracy. 
Thus  it  happens  that,  of  recent  years,  even  native-born  Americans 
have  sometimes  received  European  orders.  They  know  well 
enough  that  it  will  not  do  to  wear  the  button-hole  decoration  on 
American  soil,  but  they  feel  it  to  be  ungracious  to  decline  what  is 
offered  in  a  friendly  spirit;  unless,  indeed,  it  is  a  politician  who 
wishes  to  accentuate  and  propagate  a  certain  principle.  Democ- 
racy feels  sure  enough  of  itself  to  be  able  to  accept  a  courtesy 
which  is  offered,  with  equal  courtesy;  but  nobody  supposes,  for  a 
moment,  that  European  monarchical  decorations  have  any  magic 
to  exalt  a  man  above  his  democratic  equality.  Indeed,  the  feeling 
of  entire  equality,  and  the  belief  in  a  mutual  recognition  of  such 
equality,  are  almost  the  presupposition  of  modern  times,  and  only 
in  Irish  mass-meetings  do  we  still  hear  protests  against  European 
tyranny.  This  much  is  sure:  America  shows  not  the  slightest  ten- 
dency to  become  aristocratic  by  imitating  the  historic  aristocracies 
of  Europe. 

There  are  many  who  seem  to  believe  that,  therefore,  the  only 
aristocracy  of  America  consists  in  the  clique  of  multi-millionaires 


592  THE  AMERICANS 

which  holds  its  court  in  Newport  and  Fifth  Avenue.  The  whole 
country  observes  their  follies  and  eccentricities;  their  family  gath- 
erings are  described  at  length  by  the  press,  quite  as  any  court 
ceremonies  are  described  in  European  papers;  and  to  be  taken  into 
this  sacred  circle  is  supposed  to  be  the  life  ambition  of  industrious 
millionaires.  Many  Americans  who  are  under  the  influence  of 
the  sensational  press  would  probably  agree  with  this;  and,  judging 
by  outward  symptoms,  one  might  in  fact  suppose  that  these  Croe- 
suses along  the  ClifF-walk  at  Newport  were  really  the  responsible 
social  leaders  of  America.  This  must  seem  very  contemptible  to 
all  who  look  on  from  a  distance,  for  everything  which  the  papers 
tell  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven  about  these  people  is  an  insult  to 
real  and  sound  American  feeling.  The  fountains  of  perfumery, 
the  dinners  on  horseback,  the  cotillons  where  the  favours  are 
sun-bursts  of  real  gems  —  in  short,  the  senseless  throwing  away 
of  wealth  in  the  mere  interests  of  rivalry  and  without  even  any 
aesthetic  compensations,  cannot  profoundly  impress  a  nation  of 
pioneers. 

On  looking  more  closely,  one  sees  that  the  facts  are  not  so  bad, 
and  that  the  penny-a-liners  rather  than  the  multi-millionaires  are 
responsible  for  such  sensational  versions.  In  fact,  in  spite  of 
many  extravagances,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  taste  and  refinement 
in  those  very  circles;  much  good  sense,  an  appreciation  of  true  art, 
honest  pleasure  in  sport,  especially  if  it  is  on  a  grand  scale;  pol- 
ished address,  accomplished  elegance  in  costume,  and  at  table  a 
hospitality  which  proudly  represents  a  rich  country.  In  the 
matter  of  style  and  address,  these  people  are  in  fact  leaders,  and 
deserve  to  be.  Their  society,  it  is  true,  is  less  interesting  than 
that  of  many  very  much  more  modest  circles;  but  the  same  is  true 
throughout  the  world  of  those  people  who  make  pleasure  their 
sole  duty  in  life.  Their  ostentatious  enjoyments  display  much 
less  individuality,  and  are  more  along  prescribed  lines,  than 
those  of  European  circles  which  live  in  a  comparable  luxury  —  a 
fact  which  is  due  largely  to  the  universal  uniformity  of  fashion 
that  prevails  in  every  class  of  Americans,  and  that  is  too  little 
tolerant  of  individual  picturesqueness.  In  spite  of  all  this,  neither 
diplomatic  Washington,  nor  intellectual  Boston,  nor  hospitable 
Baltimore,  nor  conservative  Philadelphia,  nor  indomitable 
Chicago,  nor  cosmopolitan  San  Francisco,  can  point  to  any  col- 


ARISTOCRATIC  TENDENCIES 

lection  of  persons  which,  in  that  world  where  one  is  to  be  amused 
expensively  at  any  cost,  is  better  qualified  to  take  the  lead  than 
just  the  Four  Hundred  of  New  York  and  Newport. 

And  yet  there  is  a  fundamental  error  in  the  whole  calculation. 
It  is  simply  not  true  that  these  circles  exercise  any  sort  of  leader- 
ship for  the  nation,  or  have  become  the  starting-point  of  a  New 
World  aristocracy.  The  average  American,  if  he  is  still  the  true 
Puritan,  is  outraged  on  reading  of  a  wedding  ceremony  where 
more  money  is  spent  on  decorating  the  church  than  the  combined 
yearly  salaries  of  thirty  school  teachers,  or  of  the  sons  of  great 
industrial  leaders  wasting  their  days  in  drinking  cocktails  and 
racing  their  automobiles.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  he  is  a  true  city- 
bred  man,  he  takes  a  considerable  pleasure  in  reading  in  the  news- 
paper about  the  design  and  equipment  of  the  latest  yacht,  the 
decorations  in  the  ball-room  of  the  recently  built  palace,  or  about 
the  latest  divorce  doings  in  those  elect  circles.  The  two  sorts  of 
readers  —  that  is,  the  vexed  and  the  amused  —  agree  only  in  one 
thing;  —  neither  of  them  takes  all  this  seriously  from  the  national 
point  of  view.  The  one  is  outraged  that  in  his  large,  healthy,  and 
hard-working  country,  such  folderol  and  licentiousness  are  gaped 
at  or  tolerated.  And  the  other  is  pleased  that  his  country  has  be- 
come so  rich  and  strong  as  to  be  able  to  afford  such  luxuriousness 
and  extravagance;  he  looks  on  quizzically  as  at  a  vaudeville  theatre, 
but  even  he  does  not  take  the  actors  in  this  social  vaudeville  the 
least  bit  seriously.  The  one  accounts  this  clique  a  sort  of  moral 
slum,  and  the  other  a  quickly  passing  and  interesting  froth;  and 
both  parties  overestimate  the  eccentric  whimsies  and  underesti- 
mate the  actual  constant  influence  of  these  circles  in  improving 
the  taste  for  art  and  in  really  refining  manners.  But  this  clique 
is  accounted  a  real  aristocracy  merely  by  itself  and  by  the  trades- 
men who  purvey  to  it. 

In  spite  of  this,  American  society  is  beginning  to  show  important 
differentiations.  It  is  not  a  mere  sentimental  and  fanciful  aris- 
tocracy, trying  to  imitate  European  monarchicalism,  and  it  is  not 
the  pseudo-aristocracy  dancing  around  the  golden  dinner-set; 
it  is  an  aristocracy  of  leading  groups  of  people,  which  has  risen 
slowly  in  the  social  life  of  the  nation,  and  now  affords  the  starting- 
point  of  a  steadily  increasing  individuation  of  social  layers.  The 
influence  of  wealth  is  not  absent  here,  but  it  is  not  mere  wealth 


594  THE  AMERICANS 

as  such  which  exalts  these  people  to  the  nobility;  nor  is  the  histori- 
cal principle  of  family  inheritance  left  out  of  account,  although 
it  is  not  merely  the  number  of  one's  identifiable  ancestors 
that  counts.  It  is,  most  of  all,  the  profounder  marks  of  edu- 
cation and  of  personal  talent.  And  out  of  the  combination  of  all 
these  factors  and  their  interpenetration  proceed  a  New  World 
group  of  leaders,  which  has  in  fact  a  national  significance. 

If  one  were  to  name  a  single  person  who  should  typically  repre- 
sent this  new  aristocracy,  it  would  be  Theodore  Roosevelt.  In 
the  year  1649,  Claes  Roosevelt  settled  in  New  Netherlands,  which 
is  now  New  York,  and  from  generation  to  generation  his  sturdy 
descendants  have  worked  for  the  public  good.  James  Roosevelt, 
the  great-grandfather  of  the  President,  gave  his  services  without 
remuneration  to  the  Continental  Army  in  the  war  for  independ- 
ence; the  grandfather  left  the  largest  part  of  his  fortune  to  chari- 
table purposes;  and  the  father  was  tirelessly  active  in  furthering 
patriotic  undertakings  during  the  Civil  War.  And  as  this  family 
inherited  its  public  spirit,  so  also  it  inherited  substance  and  a 
taste  for  sport  and  social  life. 

Now  this  product  of  old  family  traditions  has  been  greatly  in- 
fluenced by  the  best  intellectual  culture  of  New  England.  Theo- 
dore Roosevelt  is  distinctly  a  Harvard  graduate;  all  the  elements 
of  his  nature  got  new  strength  from  the  classic  world  of  Harvard. 
The  history  of  his  nation  has  been  his  favourite  study,  and  he 
has  written  historical  treatises  of  great  breadth  of  view.  There- 
with he  possesses  a  strong  talent  for  administration,  and  has 
advanced  rapidly  by  reason  of  his  actual  achievements.  And  thus 
education,  public  service,  wealth,  and  family  traditions  have  com- 
bined to  make  a  character  which  exalts  this  man  socially  much 
higher  than  the  Presidential  office  alone  could  do.  McKinley  was 
in  some  ways  greater,  perhaps  —  but  in  McKinley's  world  there 
was  no  third  dimension  of  aristocratic  differentiation;  it  was  a 
flat  picture,  where  one  might  not  ask  nor  expect  any  diversification 
in  the  other  dimension.  Roosevelt  is  the  first  aristocrat  since 
many  years,  to  come  into  the  White  House. 

Aristocratic  shadings  can  occur  in  a  country  that  is  so  firmly 
grounded  in  democracy  only  when  the  movement  goes  in  both 
directions,  upward-  and  downward,  and  when  it  evolves  on  both 
sides.  If  it  were  a  question  on  the  one  side  of  demanding  rights 


ARISTOCRATIC  TENDENCIES  595 

and  forcing  credence  in  pretentious  display,  and  on  the  other 
side  of  demanding  any  sort  of  submission  from  less  favoured 
persons  or  assigning  them  an  inferior  position,  the  whole  effort 
would  be  hopeless.  The  claim  to  prerogative  which  is  supported 
by  an  ostentation  calculated  to  hypnotize  the  vulgar  and  a  cor- 
responding obsequiousness  of  the  weak,  can  do  nothing  more  than 
perhaps  to  preserve  aristocracy  after  it  has  taken  deep  historic 
root.  But  such  a  degenerate  form  cannot  be  the  first  stage  of 
aristocracy  in  a  new  country.  When  a  new  aristocracy  is  formed, 
it  must  boast  not  of  prerogatives,  but  of  duties,  and  the  feeling  of 
those  not  included  cannot  be  one  of  inferiority,  but  of  confidence. 
And  this  is  the  mood  which  is  growing  in  America. 

Such  duties  are  most  clearly  recognized  by  wealth,  and  wealth 
has  perhaps  contributed  most  to  begin  the  aristocratic  differentia- 
tion in  American  society;  but  it  has  not  been  the  wealth  which 
goes  into  extravagant  display  or  other  arrogant  demonstration, 
but  the  wealth  which  works  toward  the  civilized  advance  of  the 
nation.  However  much  it  may  contradict  the  prejudices  of  the 
Old  World,  wealth  alone  does  not  confer  a  social  status  in  America. 
Of  course,  property  everywhere  makes  independence;  but  so  long 
as  it  remains  merely  the  power  to  hire  things  done,  it  creates  no 
social  differentiation.  The  American  does  not  regard  a  man  with 
awe  because  he  stands  well  with  trades-people  and  stock-brokers, 
but  discriminates  sharply  between  the  possessions  and  the  pos- 
sessor. In  his  business  life  he  is  so  accustomed  to  dealing  with 
impersonal  corporations,  that  the  power  to  dispense  large  sums 
of  money  gives  a  man  no  personal  dignity  in  his  eyes.  Just  in  the 
Western  cities,  where  society  centres  about  questions  of  money 
much  more  than  in  the  East,  the  notion  of  property  differentiation 
between  men  is  developed  least  of  all  so  far  as  it  concerns  social 
station.  The  mere  circumstance  that  one  man  has  speculated 
fortunately  and  the  other  unfortunately,  that  the  real  estate  of 
one  has  appreciated  and  of  the  other  deteriorated  in  value,  occa- 
sions no  belief  in  the  inner  difference  of  the  two  men;  the  changes 
are  purely  economic,  and  suggest  nothing  of  a  social  difference. 

At  most  there  is  a  certain  curiosity,  since  property  opens  up  a 
world  of  possibilities  to  a  man;  and  he  is  considerably  scrutinized 
by  his  neighbours  to  see  what  he  will  do.  In  this  sense  especially 
in  the  small  and  middle-sized  cities,  the  local  magnates  are  the 


596  THE  AMERICANS 

centre  of  public  interest,  just  as  the  billionaires  are  in  large  cities. 
But  to  be  the  object  of  such  newspaper  curiosity  does  not  mean  to 
be  elevated  in  the  general  respect.  The  millionaire  is  in  this  respect 
very  much  like  the  operatic  tenor;  or,  to  put  it  less  graciously, 
the  hero  of  the  last  poisoning  case.  It  is  the  more  a  question 
of  a  mere  stimulation  to  the  public  fancy,  since  in  reality  the 
differences  are  surprisingly  small. 

If  one  looks  away  from  the  extravagant  eccentricities  of  small 
circles,  the  difference  in  general  mode  of  life  is  on  the  whole  very 
little  in  evidence.  The  many  citizens  in  the  large  American  city 
who  have  a  property  of  five  to  ten  million  dollars  seem  to  live  hardly 
differently  from  the  unfortunate  many  who  have  to  get  on  with 
only  a  simple  million.  On  the  other  hand,  the  average  man  with  a 
modest  income  exerts  all  his  strength  to  appear  in  clothing  and 
social  habits  as  rich  as  possible.  He  does  not  take  care  to  store 
up  a  dowry  for  his  children,  and  he  lays  by  little  because  he  does 
not  care  to  become  a  bond-holder;  he  would  rather  work  to  his 
dying  day,  and  teach  his  children  while  they  are  young  to  stand 
on  their  own  feet.  So  it  happens  that  the  differences  which 
actually  exist  are  very  little  in  evidence;  the  banker  has  his  palace 
and  his  coach,  and  his  wife  wears  sealskin;  but  his  shoe-maker 
has  also  his  own  house,  his  horse  and  buggy,  and  his  wife  wears 
a  very  good  imitation  of  seal  —  which  one  has  to  rub  against  in 
order  to  recognize. 

But  the  situation  becomes  very  different  when  it  is  a  question 
of  wealth,  not  as  a  means  of  actual  enjoyment,  but  as  a  measure 
of  the  personal  capacities  that  have  earned  it.  Then  the  whole 
importance  of  the  possession  is  indeed  transferred  to  the  possessor. 
We  must  again  emphasize  the  fact  that  this  is  the  real  impulse 
underlying  American  economic  life  —  wealth  is  the  criterion  of 
individual  achievements,  of  self-initiative;  and  since  the  whole 
nation  stretches  every  nerve  in  a  restless  demonstration  of  this  self- 
initiative,  the  person  who  is  more  successful  than  his  neighbours 
gains  necessarily  their  instinctive  admiration.  The  wealth  won 
by  lucky  gambles  in  stocks,  or  inherited,  or  derived  from  a  merely 
accidental  appreciation  of  values  or  by  a  chance  monopoly,  is  not 
respected;  but  the  wealth  amassed  by  caution  and  brilliant  fore- 
sight, by  indomitable  energy  and  tireless  initiative,  or  by  fasci- 
nating originality  and  courage,  meets  with  full  recognition.  The 


ARISTOCRATIC  TENDENCIES  597 

American  sees  in  such  a  creator  of  material  wealth  the  model  of 
his  pioneer  virtues,  the  born  leader  of  economic  progress,  and 
he  looks  up  to  him  in  sincere  admiration,  and  respects  him  far 
higher  than  his  neighbour  in  the  next  palace  who  has  accidentally 
fallen  heir  to  a  tenfold  larger  sum.  It  is  not  the  power  which 
wealth  confers,  but  the  power  which  has  conferred  wealth,  that  is 
respected. 

And  then  there  is  a  more  important  factor  —  the  respect  for 
that  force  of  mind  which  puts  wealth,  even  if  it  is  only  a  modest 
amount,  in  the  service  of  higher  ends.  Men  have  different  tastes; 
one  who  builds  hospitals  may  not  understand  the  importance  of 
patronizing  the  fine  arts;  one  who  supports  universities  may  do 
very  little  for  the  church;  or  another  who  collects  sculptures  may 
have  no  interest  in  the  education  of  the  negro.  But  the  funda- 
mental dogma  of  American  society  is  that  wealth  confers  dis- 
tinction only  on  a  man  who  works  for  ideal  ends;  and  perhaps  the 
deepest  impulse  toward  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  after  the 
economic  power  which  it  confers,  is  the  desire  for  just  this  sort 
of  dignity.  And  this  desire  is  deeper  undoubtedly  than  the  wish 
for  pleasure,  which  anyhow  is  somewhat  limited  by  the  outward 
uniformity  of  American  life.  How  far  social  recognition  is  gotten 
by  public-spirited  activities  and  how  far  social  recognition  incites 
men  to  such  activity,  is  in  any  particular  case  hard  to  decide.  But 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  a  social  condition  has  come  about  in  which  the 
noblesse  oblige  of  property  is  recognized  on  all  sides,  and  in  which 
public  opinion  is  more  discriminating  as  to  the  social  respect  which 
should  be  meted  out  to  this  or  that  public  deed,  than  it  could  be 
if  it  were  a  question  of  conferring  with  the  greatest  nicety  orders 
and  titles  of  different  values. 

The  right  of  the  individual  to  specialize  in  various  directions, 
to  focus  his  benefactions  on  Catholic  deaf-mutes  or  on  students  of 
insects,  on  church  windows,  or  clay  cylinders  with  cuneiform  in- 
scriptions, is  recognized  fully.  Confident  of  the  good-will  of  men 
of  property,  so  many  diverse  claims  have  arisen,  that  it  would  be 
quite  impossible  for  a  single  man  out  of  mere  general  sympathy 
with  civilization  to  lend  a  helping  hand  in  all  directions.  The 
Americans  esteem  just  that  carefulness  with  which  the  rich  man 
sees  to  it  that  his  property  is  applied  according  to  his  personal  ideas 
and  knowledge.  It  is  only  thereby  that  his  gifts  have  a  profound 


598  THE  AMERICANS 

personal  significance,  and  are  fundamentally  distinguished  from 
sentimental  sacrifice  or  from  ostentatious  patronage.  Giving  is 
a  serious  matter,  to  which  wealthy  men  daily  and  hourly  devote 
conscientious  labour.  A  man  like  Carnegie,  whose  useful  bequests 
already  amount  to  more  than  a  hundred  million  dollars,  could  dis- 
pose at  once  of  his  entire  property  if  he  were  in  a  single  week  to 
respond  favourably  to  all  the  calls  which  are  made  on  him.  He 
receives  every  day  hundreds  of  such  letters  of  request,  and  gives 
almost  his  entire  strength  to  carrying  out  his  benevolent  plans. 

And  the  same  is  true  on  a  smaller  scale  of  all  classes.  Every 
true  American  feels  that  his  wealth  puts  him  in  a  position  of  public 
confidence,  and  the  intensity  with  which  he  manifests  this  con- 
viction decides  the  social  esteem  in  which  his  property  is  held. 
The  real  aristocrats  of  wealth  in  this  part  of  the  world  are  those 
men  whom  public  opinion  respects  both  for  the  gaining  and  the 
using  of  their  property;  both  factors,  in  a  way,  have  to  be  united. 
The  admirable  personal  talents  which  accumulate  large  properties, 
and  the  lofty  ideals  which  put  them  to  the  best  uses,  may  appear 
to  be  quite  independent  matters,  and  indeed  they  sometimes  do 
exclude  each  other,  but  the  aristocratic  ideal  demands  the  two  to- 
gether. And  the  Americans  notice  when  either  one  is  absent;  they 
notice  when  wealth  is  amassed  in  imposing  quantities,  but  then 
employed  trivially  or  selfishly;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  when  it  is 
employed  for  the  very  highest  ends,  but  in  the  opinion  of  com- 
petent men  has  been  accumulated  improperly.  The  public  feels 
more  and  more  inclined  to  look  into  the  business  methods  of  men 
who  make  large  gifts.  The  American  does  not  recognize  the  non 
olet,  and  there  have  often  been  lively  discussions  when  ill-gotten 
wealth  has  been  offered  in  public  benefaction. 

Wealth  gotten  by  distinguished  enterprise  and  integrity,  and 
employed  conscientiously  and  thoughtfully,  confers  in  fact  high 
social  distinction.  But  it  is  only  one  factor  among  others.  A 
second  factor  is  family  tradition,  the  dignity  of  a  name  long  re- 
spected for  civil  high-mindedness  and  refinement.  A  European 
has  only  the  barest  impression  of  the  great  social  significance  of 
American  genealogies,  and  would  be  surprised  to  see  in  the  large 
libraries  whole  walls  of  book-shelves  that  contain  nothing  but 
works  on  the  lineage  of  American  families.  The  family  tree  of 
the  single  family  of  Whitney,  of  Connecticut,  takes  up  three  thick 


ARISrOCRAriC  TENDENCIES  599 

volumes  amounting  to  2,700  pages;  and  there  even  exists  a  thick 
and  handsome  volume  with  the  genealogies  of  American  families 
of  royal  extraction.  There  are  not  only  special  papers  devoted 
to  the  scientific  study  of  genealogies,  but  even  some  of  the  large 
daily  papers  have  a  section  devoted  to  this  subject.  Much  of 
this  is  mere  curiosity  and  sport  —  a  fashionable  whim,  which  col- 
lects ancestors  much  like  coins  or  postage  stamps.  Although  the 
preserving  of  family  traditions  and  an  expansive  pride  in  historic 
lineage  do  not  contradict  democratic  principles,  yet  the  interest  in 
pedigree,  if  it  takes  real  hold  on  the  public  mind,  very  soon  leads 
to  a  genuine  social  differentiation. 

Such  differentiation  will  be  superficial  at  first.  If  none  but 
descendants  of  Puritans  who  came  over  in  the  "  Mayflower  "  are 
invited  to  a  set  of  dances,  a  spirit  of  exclusiveness  is  shown  which 
is  indeed  undemocratic;  but  this  sort  of  thing  is  in  fact  only  a  play- 
ful matter  in  American  society.  The  large  organizations  that 
choose  their  membership  on  the  ground  of  peculiar  ancestry  make 
no  pretence  to  special  privileges,  and  many  of  them  are  nothing 
but  philanthropic  societies.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  aristocracy 
of  family  were  to  assume  special  rights,  it  would  be  no  innovation 
on  American  soil,  because  in  the  earliest  colonial  days  many  of 
the  social  differences  of  English  society  were  brought  over,  and 
the  English  class  spirit  did  not  dispppear  until  after  the  Revolution, 
when  the  younger  sons  of  English  gentlemen  no  longer  came  over 
to  this  country.  In  the  South,  a  considerable  spirit  of  aristocracy 
persisted  until  after  the  Civil  War. 

Such  superficial  differentiation  has  virtually  disappeared  to-day. 
The  mere  tinsel  of  family  aristocracy  has  been  torn  off,  but  for 
this  reason  the  real  importance  and  achievements  of  certain 
families  come  out  all  the  more  clearly.  The  representatives  of 
venerable  family  names  are  looked  on  with  peculiar  public  con- 
fidence; and  the  more  the  American  nation  becomes  acquainted 
with  the  history  of  these  families,  which  have  been  active  on  Ameri- 
can soil  for  eight  or  ten  generations,  the  more  it  respects  their 
descendants  of  the  present  day. 

It  is  true  that  conditions  are  still  provincial,  and  that  almost  no 
family  has  a  national  significance.  The  names  of  the  first  families 
of  Virginia,  which  are  universally  revered  in  the  South,  are  almost 
unknown  in  the  North;  the  descendants  of  Knickerbocker  families, 


6oo  THE  AMERICANS 

whose  very  name  must  not  be  mentioned  in  New  York  without 
a  certain  air  of  solemnity,  are  very  much  less  considered  in  Balti- 
more or  Philadelphia;  and  the  western  part  of  the  country  is  natu- 
rally still  too  young  to  have  established  such  traditions  at  all  until 
recently.  But  the  following  is  a  typical  example  for  the  East: 

Harvard  University  is  governed  by  seven  men  who  are  chosen 
to  fill  this  responsible  position,  solely  because  the  academic  com- 
munity has  profound  confidence  both  in  their  integrity  and  in  their 
breadth  of  view.  And  yet  it  is  no  accident  that  among  these  seven 
men,  there  is  not  one  whose  family  has  not  been  of  service  to  the 
State  of  Massachusetts  for  seven  generations.  So  that,  even  in 
such  a  model  democratic  community  as  Puritan  New  England, 
the  names  of  families  that  have  played  an  important  public 
part  in  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century  are  as  much  re- 
spected as  the  old  "markische  Adel"  in  Prussia.  And  although 
they  are  without  the  privileges  of  nobility,  the  whole  dignity  of 
the  past  is  felt  by  every  educated  person  to  be  preserved  in  such 
family  names. 

But  the  most  important  factor  in  the  aristocratic  differentiation 
of  America  is  higher  education  and  culture,  and  this  becomes 
more  important  every  day.  In  speaking  of  universities,  we  have 
carefully  explained  why  higher  culture  is  less  closely  connected 
with  the  learned  professions  in  America  than  in  the  European 
countries.  We  have  seen  that  the  learned  professions  are  fed  by 
professional  and  very  practical  schools,  which  turn  out  a  doctor, 
lawyer,  or  preacher  without  requiring  a  broad  and  liberal  previous 
training;  and  how,  on  the  other  hand,  the  college  has  been  the  inde- 
pendent institution  for  higher  culture,  and  how  these  two  insti- 
tutions have  slowly  grown  together  in  the  course  of  time,  so  that 
the  college  course  has  come  at  length  to  be  the  regular  preparation 
for  those  who  attend  professional  schools.  Now,  in  considering 
the  social  importance  of  higher  individual  culture,  we  have  not  to 
consider  the  learned  professions,  but  rather  the  general  college 
training;  and  in  this  respect  we  find  undoubtedly  that  common 
opinion  has  slowly  shifted  toward  an  aristocratic  point  of  view. 
The  social  importance  ascribed  to  a  college  graduate  is  all  the  time 
growing. 

It  was  kept  back  for  a  long  time  by  unfortunate  prejudices.  Be- 
cause other  than  intellectual  forces  had  made  the  nation  strong, 


ARISTOCRATIC  TENDENCIES  601 

and  everywhere  in  the  foreground  of  public  activity  there  were 
vigorous  and  influential  men  who  had  not  continued  their  edu- 
cation beyond  the  public  grammar  school,  so  the  masses  instinct- 
ively believed  that  insight,  real  energy,  and  enterprise  were  better 
developed  in  the  school  of  life  than  in  the  world  of  books.  The 
college  student  was  thought  of  as  a  weakling,  in  a  way,  who  might 
have  many  fine  theories  about  things,  but  who  would  never  take 
hold  to  help  solve  the  great  national  problems  —  a  sort  of  academic 
"mugwump,"  but  not  a  leader.  The  banking-house,  factory, 
farm,  the  mine,  the  law  office,  and  the  political  position  were  all 
thought  better  places  for  the  young  American  man  than  the  col- 
lege lecture  halls.  And  perhaps  the  unpractical  character  of 
college  studies  was  no  more  feared  than  the  artificial  social  atmos- 
phere. It  was  felt  that  an  ideal  atmosphere  was  created  in  the 
college  to  which  the  mind  in  its  best  period  of  development  too 
readily  adapted  itself,  so  that  it  came  out  virtually  unprepared  for 
the  crude  reality  of  practical  life.  This  has  been  a  dogma  in  polit- 
ical life  ever  since  the  Presidency  of  Andrew  Jackson,  and  almost 
e  Dually  so  in  economic  life. 

This  has  profoundly  changed  now,  and  changes  more  with  every 
year.  It  is  not  a  question  of  identifying  the  higher  culture  with 
the  learned  professions,  as  in  Germany —  there  is  no  reason  for  this; 
and  such  a  point  of  view  has  developed  in  Germany  only  by  an 
accident  of  history.  In  America  it  is  still  thought  that  a  graduate  of 
one  of  these  colleges  —  that  is,  a  man  who  has  gone  about  as  far  as 
the  German  student  of  philosophy  in  the  third  or  fourth  semester  — 
is  equal  to  anybody  in  culture,  no  matter  whether  he  afterward 
becomes  a  manufacturer,  or  banker,  or  lawyer,  or  a  philologian. 
The  change  has  taken  place  in  regard  to  what  is  expected  of  the 
college  student;  distrust  has  vanished,  and  people  realize  that  the 
intellectual  discipline  which  he  has  had  until  his  twenty-second 
year  in  the  artificial  and  ideal  world  is  after  all  the  best  training 
for  the  great  duties  of  public  life,  and  that  academic  training, 
less  by  its  subject-matter  than  by  its  methods,  is  the  best  possible 
preparation  for  practical  activity. 

The  man  of  academic  training  is  the  only  one  who  sees  things 
in  their  right  perspective,  and  gives  them  the  right  values.  Even 
the  large  merchant  knows  to-day  that  the  young  man  who  left 
college  at  twenty-two  will  be,  when  he  is  twenty-seven  years  of 


602  THE  AMERICANS 

age,  generally  ahead  of  his  contemporaries  who  left  school  at 
seventeen  and  "went  to  work."  The  great  self-made  men  do 
indeed  say  a  good  deal  to  comfort  those  who  have  had  only  a 
school  training,  but  it  may  be  noted  that  they  send  their  own  sons 
to  college.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  leading  positions  in  the  dis- 
posal of  the  nation  are  almost  entirely  in  the  hands  of  men  of 
academic  training,  and  the  mistrust  of  the  theorizing  college 
spirit  has  given  place  to  a  situation  in  which  university  presidents 
and  professors  have  much  to  say  on  all  practical  questions  of  public 
life,  and  the  college  graduates  are  the  real  supporters  of  every 
movement  toward  reform  and  civilization. 

All  in  all,  it  can  no  longer  be  denied  that  a  class  of  national 
leaders  has  risen  above  the  social  life  of  the  masses,  and  not  wholly, 
as  democracy  would  really  require,  by  reason  of  their  personal 
talents.  A  wealthy  man  has  a  certain  advantage  by  his  wealth, 
the  man  of  family  by  his  lineage,  the  man  of  academic  training  by 
the  fact  that  his  parents  were  able  to  send  him  to  the  university. 
This  is  neither  plutocracy  nor  hereditary  aristocracy,  nor  intellec- 
tual snobbery.  We  have  seen  that  wealth  wins  consideration  only 
when  well  expended,  that  ancestry  brings  no  privileges  or  prerog- 
atives with  it,  and  that  an  academic  education  is  not  equivalent 
to  merely  technical  erudition.  The  personal  factor  is  not  lacking, 
since  we  have  seen  that  the  rich  man  must  plan  his  benefactions, 
the  man  of  family  must  play  his  public  part,  and  that  academic 
training  is  in  the  reach  of  every  young  man  who  will  try  for  it. 
The  fundamental  principles  of  democracy  are  therefore  not  de- 
stroyed, but  they  are  modified.  The  spirit  of  self-assertion  which 
calls  for  absolute  equality  is  everywhere  brought  face  to  face  with 
men  who  are  superior,  whose  claims  cannot  be  discounted,  and 
who  are  tacitly  admitted  to  belong  rightfully  to  an  upper  class. 

Differentiation,  once  more,  works  not  merely  upward,  but  also 
downward;  the  public  leader  pushes  himself  ahead,  and  at  the 
same  time  the  great  masses  are  looking  for  some  one  whom  they 
may  follow.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  subjection,  but  of  confidence  — 
confidence  in  men  who  are  recognizedly  better  than  many  others. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  a  reaction  is  going  on  throughout 
America  to-day,  not  against  democracy,  but  against  those  opinions 
which  have  prevailed  in  the  democracy  ever  since  the  days  of  the 
pioneers.  A  great  many  people  feel  instinctively  that  the  time 


ARISTOCRATIC  TENDENCIES  603 

is  ripe  to  oppose  the  one-sidedness  of  domination  by  the  masses; 
people  are  forcibly  impressed  by  the  fact  that  in  politics,  govern- 
ment, literature  and  art,  the  great  achievements  are  thwarted  by 
vulgar  influences,  that  the  original  individual  is  impressed  into  the 
ordinary  mould,  and  that  dilettanteism  and  mediocrity  rule  trium- 
phant and  keep  out  the  best  talents  from  public  life.  People 
see  the  tyranny  of  greed,  the  reproach  of  municipal  corruption, 
the  unwholesome  influence  of  a  sensational  press  and  of  unscrupu- 
lous capital.  They  see  how  public  life  becomes  blatant,  irresponsi- 
ble, and  vulgar;  how  all  authority  and  respect  must  disappear 
if  democracy  is  not  to  be  curbed  at  any  point. 

The  time  has  come,  a  great  many  feel,  in  which  the  moral  in- 
fluence of  authority  is  needed,  and  the  educational  influence  of 
those  more  cultivated  persons  who  will  not  yield  to  the  aesthetic 
tastes  of  the  vulgar  must  be  infused  into  the  democracy.  The 
trained  man  must  speak  where  the  masses  would  otherwise  act 
from  mere  caprice;  the  disciplined  mind  must  lead  where  incom- 
petence is  heading  for  blind  alleys;  the  best  minds  must  have  some 
say  and  people  must  be  forced  to  listen,  so  that  other  voices  and 
opinions  shall  have  weight  than  those  that  make  the  babel  of  the 
streets.  The  eclectic  must  prevail  over  the  vulgar  taste,  and  the 
profound  over  the  superficial,  since  it  is  clear  that  only  in  that 
way  will  America  advance  beyond  her  present  stage  of  develop- 
ment. America  has  created  a  new  political  world,  and  must  now 
turn  to  aesthetics  and  culture.  Such  a  reaction  has  not  happened 
to-day  or  yesterday,  but  has  been  going  on  steadily  in  the  last 
few  decades,  and  to-day  it  is  so  strong  as  to  overcome  all  re- 
sistance. The  desire  for  the  beauty  and  dignity  of  culture,  for 
authority  and  thoroughness,  is  creeping  into  every  corner  of 
American  life. 

The  time  is  already  passing  which  would  do  away  with  all 
discipline  and  submission  in  school  and  family  life;  public  life 
brings  the  trained  expert  everywhere  into  prominence.  The 
disgust  at  the  vulgarity  of  daily  life,  as  in  the  visible  appearance 
of  city  streets,  increases  rapidly.  The  sense  of  beauty  is  every- 
where at  work;  and  men  of  taste,  education,  and  traditions,  rather 
than  the  city  fathers  who  are  elected  by  the  rabble,  are  finally 
being  called  to  positions  of  leadership.  The  democratic  spirit  is 
not  crumbling,  and  certainly  the  rights  of  the  masses  are  not  to  be 


604  THE  AMERICANS 

displaced  by  the  rights  of  the  better  educated  and  more  aesthetic; 
but  democracy  is  in  a  way  to  be  perfected,  to  be  brought  as  high 
as  it  can  be  brought  by  giving  a  representation  to  really  all  the 
forces  that  are  in  the  social  organism,  and  by  not  permitting  the 
more  refined  ones  to  be  suppressed  by  the  weight  of  the  masses. 
The  nation  has  come  to  that  maturity  where  the  public  is  ready  to 
let  itself  be  led  by  the  best  men. 

It  is  true  that  the  public  taste  still  prevails  too  widely  in  many 
branches  of  social  life;  there  is  too  much  triviality;  too  many  insti- 
tutions are  built  on  the  false  principles  that  everybody  knows  best 
what  is  good  for  him,  and  too  many  undertakings  flatter  the  taste 
which  they  should  educate.  But  opposite  tendencies  are  present 
everywhere.  The  more  the  economic  development  of  the  country  is 
rounded  off,  the  greater  is  its  demand  for  social  differentiation,  for 
the  recognition  of  certain  influences  as  superior,  for  subordination, 
and  for  finer  organization.  Just  as  economic  life  has  long  since 
given  up  free  competition,  and  the  great  corporations  show  admi- 
rably that  subordination  is  necessary  to  great  purposes,  and  the 
world  of  labour  has  become  an  army  with  strictest  discipline  and 
blind  allegiance,  so  in  the  non-economic  world  a  tendency  toward 
subordination,  individuation,  and  aristocracy  becomes  every  mo- 
ment more  evident. 

To  this  tendency  there  is  added  the  new  conception  of  the  state. 
Democracy  is,  from  the  outset,  individualistic.  We  have  seen 
everywhere  that  the  fundamental  force  in  this  community  is  the 
belief  of  every  man  in  his  own  personality  and  that  of  others.  The 
state  has  been  the  sum  total  of  individuals,  and  the  state  as  some- 
thing more  than  the  individual  has  appeared  as  a  bare  abstraction. 
The  individual  alone  has  asserted  itself,  perfected  and  guided  itself, 
and  taken  all  the  initiative.  And  this  belief  in  the  person  is  no 
less  firm  to-day;  but  another  belief  has  come  up.  This  is  a  belief 
in  the  ethical  reality  of  the  state.  Public  opinion  is  still  afraid 
that  if  this  belief  increases,  the  old  confidence  in  the  value  of  the 
individual,  and  therewith  of  all  the  fundamental  virtues  of  Ameri- 
can democracy,  may  be  shaken.  But  the  belief  spreads  from 
day  to  day,  and  produces  its  change  in  public  opinion.  Politics  are 
trending  as  are  so  many  other  branches  of  life;  the  emphasis  is 
passing  from  the  individual  to  the  totality.  As  we  have  seen  that 
the  Americans  adorned  their  houses  before  their  public  buildings, 


ARISTOCRATIC  TENDENCIES  605 

quite  the  opposite  of  what  Europeans  have  done,  so  they  have 
given  political  value  to  the  millions  of  individuals  long  before  they 
laid  weight  on  the  one  collective  will  of  the  state.  The  men  who 
would  have  sacrificed  everything  rather  than  cheat  their  neigh- 
bours have  had  no  conscientious  scruples  in  plundering  the  state. 

It  is  different  to-day.  The  feeling  grows  that  honour  toward 
the  state,  sacrifice  for  it,  and  confidence  in  it  are  even  more  im- 
portant than  the  respect  for  the  totality  of  individuals.  These 
opinions  cannot  be  spread  abroad  without  having  their  far-reach- 
ing consequences;  the  state  is  visible  only  in  symbols,  and  its 
representatives  get  their  significance  by  symbolizing  not  the  popu- 
lation, but  the  abstract  state.  The  individual  representative  of 
government  is  thus  exalted  personally  above  the  democratic  level. 
To  fill  an  office  means  not  merely  to  do  work,  but  to  experience 
a  broadening  of  personality,  much  as  that  which  the  priest  feels 
in  his  office;  it  is  an  enlargement  which  demands  on  the  other  side 
respect  and  subordination.  This  tendency  is  still  in  its  begin- 
nings, and  will  never  be  so  strong  as  in  Europe,  because  the  self- 
assertion  of  the  individual  is  too  lively.  Nevertheless,  these  new 
notes  in  the  harmony  are  much  louder  and  more  persistent  than 
they  were  ten  years  ago. 

Thus  there  are  many  forces  which  work  to  check  the  spirit  of 
self-assertion;  in  spite  of  the  liveliest  feeling  of  equality,  a  social 
differentiation  is  practically  working  itself  out  in  all  American 
life.  Differences  of  occupation  are,  perhaps,  the  least  signifi- 
cant; a  profession  which  has  such  a  great  claim  to  superiority  as, 
for  instance,  that  of  the  army  officer  in  Germany,  does  not  exist  in 
the  United  States.  Perhaps  the  legal  profession  would  be  looked 
on  as  the  most  important,  and  certainly  it  absorbs  a  very  large 
proportion  of  the  best  strength  of  the  nation.  The  high  position 
given  the  jurist  is  probably  in  good  part  because,  unlike  his  Con- 
tinental colleague,  as  we  have  explained  at  length,  he  actually  takes 
part  in  shaping  the  law.  In  a  different  way  the  preacher  is  very 
greatly  respected,  but  his  profession  decreases  slowly  in  attractive- 
ness for  the  best  talents  of  the  country.  The  academic  profes- 
sions, on  the  other  hand,  have  drawn  such  talent  more  and 
more,  and  will  continue  to  do  so  as  the  distinction  grows  sharper 
between  the  college  teacher  and  the  real  university  professor.  The 
pre-eminently  reproductive  activities  are  naturally  less  enticing 


606  THE  AMERICANS 

than  those  which  are  creative,  and  wherever  talent  is  attracted  it 
quickly  accomplishes  great  things,  and  these  work  to  improve  the 
social  status  of  the  profession.  The  political  profession,  as  such,  is 
far  down  in  the  scale;  only  governors,  senators,  and  the  highest 
ministerial  officials  play  an  important  social  part.  Of  course,  one 
cannot  speak  of  the  especial  recognition  of  mercantile  or  industrial 
professions,  because  these  offer  too  great  a  variety  of  attainment; 
but  certainly  their  most  influential  representatives  are  socially 
inferior  to  none  in  the  community. 

Social  differentiation  does  not  rest  on  a  sharp  discrimination 
of  profession,  and  yet  it  is  realized  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest 
circles  of  society,  and  to  a  degree  which  fifty  years  ago  would  have 
greatly  antagonized  at  least  the  entire  northern  part  of  the  country. 
In  Washington,  the  exclusive  hostess  invites  only  the  wives  of 
senators,  but  not  those  of  representatives,  to  her  table;  and  in  the 
Bowery,  according  to  the  accounts,  the  children  of  the  peanut 
vendor  do  not  deign  to  play  with  the  children  of  the  hurdy-gurdy 
man,  who  are  vastly  more  humble.  The  Four  Hundred  in  the 
large  city  quietly  but  resolutely  decline  to  invite  newly  made  mil- 
lionaires to  dinner;  and  the  seamstress,  who  comes  to  the  house  to 
sew  or  mend,  refuses  to  sit  down  at  table  with  the  servants.  Al- 
ready, in  the  large  cities,  the  children  of  better  families  are  not 
sent  to  public,  but  to  private  schools.  The  railroads  have  only  one 
class  of  passenger  coach;  but  the  best  society  declines  that,  and 
rides  in  the  Pullman  cars.  The  same  distinctions  hold  everywhere, 
and  not  merely  as  a  matter  of  greater  luxury  for  the  rich,  but  as  a 
real  social  distinction.  At  the  theatre,  the  person  who  socially 
belongs  in  the  parquet  prefers  to  sit  in  one  of  the  worst  seats  there 
to  going  into  the  balcony,  where  he  does  not  belong,  even  though 
he  might  hear  and  see  better. 

The  increasing  sympathy  with  badges,  costumes,  and  uniforms  — 
in  short,  with  the  symbols  of  differentiation  —  is  very  typical.  There 
was  a  time  in  which  a  free  American  would  have  refused  to  wear  a 
special  livery;  but  to-day  nobody  objects,  from  the  elevator  boy  to 
the  judge,  to  wear  the  marks  of  office.  The  holiday  processions 
of  working-men  and  veterans  become  gayer  and  gayer.  Those  who 
have  seen  the  recent  inaugurations  of  the  presidents  of  Yale  and 
Columbia  have  witnessed  parades  of  hundreds  of  gay  and,  it 
seemed,  partly  fantastic  costumes,  such  as  are  now  worn  at  every 


ARISTOCRATIC  TENDENCIES  607 

university  celebration  in  America  —  symbolic  emblems  which 
would  have  seemed  impossible  in  this  monotonous  democracy 
twenty  years  ago. 

The  inner  life  of  universities  gives  also  lively  indication  of  social 
cleavage.  In  Harvard  and  Yale,  there  are  exclusive  clubs  of  the 
social  leaders  among  the  students.  It  is  true  that  hundreds  of 
students  go  through  the  university  without  paying  any  attention  to 
such  things;  but  there  are  almost  as  many  more  whose  chief  ambi- 
tion is  to  be  elected  into  an  exclusive  circle,  and  who  would  feel 
compensated  by  no  sort  of  scientific  success  if  they  were  disap- 
pointed in  their  aspirations  for  club  life.  In  the  same  way  many 
families  which  have  become  wealthy  in  the  West  move  to  New 
York  or  Boston,  in  the  vain  hope  of  breaking  into  society.  The 
social  difference  between  near-lying  residential  sections  is,  indeed, 
much  greater  than  in  Europe;  and  real  estate  on  a  street  which 
comes  to  be  occupied  by  socially  inferior  elements  rapidly  depre- 
ciates, because  the  inhabitants  of  any  residential  section  must 
stand  on  the  same  plane. 

The  transformations  which  the  place  of  the  President  in  public 
consciousness  has  gone  through  are  very  characteristic.  A  newly 
elected  President  is  to-day  inaugurated  with  almost  monarchical 
pomp,  and  he  reviews  the  Navy,  as  he  never  would  have  thought 
of  doing  some  years  ago.  He  sits  down  first  at  the  table  and  is 
served  first.  An  invitation  to  the  White  House  is  felt  as  a  command 
which  takes  precedence  over  any  other  engagement.  All  this  has 
happened  recently.  It  was  not  long  ago  that  persons  refused  an 
invitation  to  the  White  House,  because  of  previous  engagements. 
In  social  life  all  men  were  merely  "gentlemen,"  regardless  of  the 
capacities  which  they  had  during  business  hours,  and  in  matters  of 
invitation  one  visited  the  host  who  was  first  to  invite  one.  All  this 
is  different  now. 

There  is  even  some  indication  of  the  use  of  titles.  Twenty  years 
ago  students  addressed  their  professors  with  a  mister,  but  to-day 
more  often  with  the  title  of  professor;  and  the  abuse  of  military 
titles  which  goes  on  in  the  West  amuses  the  whole  country.  In  the 
army  itself  aristocratic  tendencies  are  strongly  manifest,  but  only 
here  and  there  come  to  general  notice.  Contrary  to  the  spirit  of 
official  appointments,  men  are  not  advanced  so  rapidly  who  work 
up  from  a  socially  inferior  level,  but  the  social  elite  is  favoured. 


6o8  THE  AMERICANS 

Etiquette  in  social  life  is  becoming  more  complicated;  there  is  more 
formality,  more  symbolism  in  social  intercourse.  A  nation  which 
pays  every  year  more  than  six  million  dollars  for  cut  roses  and  four 
millions  for  carnations  has  certainly  learned  to  decorate  social  life. 
There  is  even  more  etiquette  in  professional  life.  The  professional 
behaviour  of  lawyers,  physicians,  and  scholars  is  in  some  respects, 
at  least  in  the  East,  more  narrowly  prescribed  than  it  is  even  in 
Europe. 

Looking  at  the  situation  as  a  whole,  one  sees  the  power  of  this 
new  spirit,  not  so  much  in  these  petty  symptoms  as  in  the  great 
movements  of  which  we  have  spoken  at  length  in  other  connections. 
There  is  the  spirit  of  imperialism  in  foreign  politics,  and  it  cannot 
expand  in  its  pride  without  working  against  the  old  democratic  ten- 
dencies.    There  is  the  spirit  of  militarism,  triumphantly  proud  of 
the  victorious  army  and  navy,  demanding  strict  discipline  and 
blind  obedience  to  the  commander.     There  is  the  spirit  of  racial 
pride,  which  persecutes  the  negro  and  the  Chinese,  and  hinders  the 
immigration  of  Eastern  and  Southern  Europeans.     There  is  the 
spirit  of  centralization,  exalting  the  power  of  the  state  above  the 
conflicting  desires  of    the  individual,  and  in  economic  matters 
hoping  more  from  the  intelligent  initiative  of  the  state  as  a  whole 
than  from  the  free  competition  of  individuals,  and  assigning  to  the 
Federation  tremendous  undertakings,   such  as  the  irrigation  of 
the  West  and  the  cutting  of  the  Panama  Canal.      There  is  the 
spirit  of  aristocracy,  tempting  more  and  more  the  academically 
cultured  and  the  wealthy  into  the  political  arena.     There  is  the 
spirit  of  social  differentiation  coming  into  art  and  science,  and 
bringing  to  the  life  of  the  nation  ideals  of  beauty  and  of  knowledge 
which  are  far  above  the  vulgar  comprehension.     Eclectic  taste  is 
winning  a  victory  over  popular  taste.     The  judgment  of  the  most 
learned,  the  refinement  of  the  most  educated,  and  the  wisdom  of 
the  most  mature  are  being  made  prominent  before  the  public  mind. 
We  have  already  seen  how  this  new  spirit  grows  and  unfolds,  and 
how  the  one-sidedness  and  eccentricities  of  political,  economic, 
intellectual,  and  artistic  democracy  are  being  outgrown  day  by  day, 
and  how  the  America  of  Roosevelt's  time  is  shaping  itself  in  accord- 
ance with  the  civilizations  of  Western  Europe. 

There  are  some  who  behold  this    development  with  profound 
concern.     That   which    has    made    America's    greatness,    which 


ARISTOCRATIC  TENDENCIES  609 

seemed  to  be  her  mission  in  the  world,  was  the  belief  in  the  ethical 
worth  of  the  individual.  The  doctrines  of  self-determination, 
self-initiative,  and  self-assertion,  and  the  civilization  which  rested 
on  such  a  foundation,  have  nothing  to  hope  and  much  to  fear  from 
social  differentiation  and  imperialism.  Aristocratic  tendencies  ap- 
pear to  undermine  this  ethical  democracy,  and  the  imperialistic 
symbols  of  our  day  mock  the  traditions  of  the  past.  There  will 
certainly  be  many  reactions  against  these  aristocratic  tendencies; 
perhaps  they  will  be  only  small  movements  working  through  the 
press  and  at  the  ballot-box  against  the  encroachments  on  the  spirit 
of  the  past  and  against  the  expansion  of  office,  and  hindering  those 
aristocratic  tendencies  which  depart  too  far  from  the  traditions  of 
the  masses.  Perhaps,  some  day,  there  will  be  a  great  reaction. 
Perhaps  the  tremendous  power  possessed  by  the  labouring  classes 
in  the  country  will  lead  to  battles  for  ethical  principles,  in  which 
the  modern  aesthetic  development  will  be  reversed ;  it  would  not  be 
the  first  time  on  American  soil  that  ethical  reform  has  produced 
social  deterioration,  for  "reform"  means  always  the  victory  of 
naked,  equalizing  logic  over  the  conservative  forces  which  repre- 
sent historic  differentiation.  So  the  Revolution  abolished  the 
patrician  society  of  New  England,  whose  aristocratic  members 
survive  in  the  portraits  of  Copley;  and  the  day  may  come  when 
trades-unions  will  be  victorious  over  that  aristocracy  which  Sar- 
gent is  now  painting.  Even  the  reform  which  emancipated  the 
slaves  destroyed  a  true  and  chivalrous  aristocracy  in  the  South. 

But  it  is  more  likely  that  the  steady  development  will  go  on,  and 
that  there  will  be  a  harmonious  co-operation  between  the  funda- 
mental democratic  forces  and  the  lesser  aristocratic  ones.  It  can- 
not be  doubted  that  that  democracy  of  which  we  have  aimed  to 
describe  the  real  intent,  will  remain  the  fundamental  force  under 
the  American  Constitution;  and  however  strict  military  discipline 
may  become,  however  aristocratic  the  social  differentiations,  how- 
ever imperialistic  the  politics,  however  esoteric  art  and  science, 
undoubtedly  the  greatest  question  put  by  every  American  to  his 
brother  will  be:  "What  do  you,  purely  as  an  individual,  amount 
to?"  The  ethical  rights  and  the  ethical  duties  of  the  individual 
will  be  the  ultimate  standard,  and  aristocratic  pomp  will  always 
be  suppressed  in  America  whenever  it  commences  to  restrain  the 
passion  for  justice  and  for  self-determination. 


6io  THE  AMERICANS 

The  most  serious  Americans  are  in  the  position  of  Tantalus; 
they  see,  in  a  thousand  ways  and  at  a  thousand  places,  that  a  cer- 
tain advance  could  be  made  if  somehow  the  vulgar  masses  could 
be  got  out  of  the  way;  they  see  how  civic  and  national  ends  could 
be  attained  almost  without  trouble  by  the  ample  means  of  the 
country,  if  as  in  Europe,  the  most  intelligent  minds  could  be  put  in 
control.  They  want  all  this  most  seriously;  and  yet  they  cannot 
have  it,  because  in  the  bottom  of  their  hearts  they  really  do  not 
wish  it.  They  feel  too  profoundly  that  the  gain  would  be  only 
apparent,  that  the  moral  force  of  the  nation  would  be  sacrificed 
if  a  single  citizen  should  lose  the  confidence  that  he  himself  is  re- 
sponsible for  the  nation  which  he  helps  to  guide  and  to  make.  The 
easy  attainment  of  success  is  only  a  secondary  matter;  the  purity 
of  the  individual  will  is  the  main  consideration.  With  this  stands 
or  falls  American  culture.  Development  is  first  of  all  an  ethical 
problem;  just  because  the  world  is  incomplete,  is  hard,  and  un- 
beautiful,  and  everywhere  needs  to  be  transformed  by  human 
labour,  just  on  that  account  human  life  is  inexhaustibly  valuable. 
This  is  the  fundamental  thought,  and  will  remain  so  as  long  as 
the  New  World  remains  true  to  its  ideals.  The  finer  notes  are 
only  an  overtone  in  the  great  chord;  it  is  only  faintly  discerned 
that  the  world  is  valuable  when  it  is  beautiful  —  after  it  has  been 
mastered  and  completed. 

In  this  opposition  between  the  ethical  and  the  aesthetic,  be- 
tween the  democratic  and  the  aristocratic,  America  will  never 
sacrifice  her  fundamental  conviction,  will  never  follow  aristocratic 
tendencies  further  than  where  they  are  needed  to  correct  the 
dangerous  one-sidedness  and  the  excrescences  of  democratic  in- 
dividualism; at  least,  never  so  far  that  any  danger  will  threaten  the 
democracy.  The  pride  of  the  true  American  is,  once  and  for  all, 
not  the  American  country,  nor  yet  American  achievements,  but 
the  American  personality. 

One  who  seeks  the  profoundest  reality  that  history  has  to  offer, 
not  in  the  temporal  unfolding  of  events,  but  in  the  interplay  of 
human  wills,  will  agree  with  the  American's  judgment  of  himself. 
Looking  at  the  people  of  the  New  World  even  from  afar,  one  will 
find  the  fascination,  novelty,  and  greatness  of  the  American  world 
mission,  not  in  what  the  American  has  accomplished,  but  in  what 
he  desires  and  will  desire. 


ARISTOCRATIC  TENDENCIES  611 

Nevertheless,  this  will  not  seem  strange  or  foreign  to  any  Ger- 
man. In  the  depths  of  his  soul,  he  has  himself  a  similar  play  of 
desires.  In  the  course  of  history,  reverence  and  faithfulness  de- 
veloped in  the  German  soul  more  strongly  than  the  individualistic 
craving  for  self-determination  and  self-assertion ;  aristocratic  love 
of  beauty  and  truth  developed  before  the  democratic  spirit 
of  self-initiative.  But  to-day,  in  modern  Germany,  these  very 
instincts  are  being  aroused,  just  as  in  modern  America  those 
forces  are  growing  which  have  long  dominated  the  German  soul. 

The  American  still  puts  the  higher  value  on  the  personal,  the 
German  on  the  over-personal;  the  American  on  the  intrinsic  value 
of  the  creating  will,  the  German  on  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  abso- 
lute ideal.  But  every  day  sees  the  difference  reduced,  and  brings 
the  two  nations  nearer  to  a  similar  attitude  of  mind.  Moreover, 
both  of  these  fundamental  tendencies  are  equally  idealistic,  and 
both  of  these  nations  are  therefore  destined  to  understand  and 
to  esteem  each  other,  mutually  to  extend  their  friendship,  to  emu- 
late each  other,  and  to  work  together,  so  that  in  the  confused  play 
of  temporal  forces  the  intrinsically  valuable  shall  be  victorious 
over  the  temporary  and  fleeting,  the  ideal  over  the  accidental. 
For  both  nations  feel  together,  in  the  depths  of  their  being,  that 
in  order  to  give  meaning  to  life  man  must  believe  in  timeless 
ideals. 


THE  END 


THE   MOCLURE   PRESS.   NEW  YORK 


INDEX 


INDEX 


AESTHETIC    Tendencies,     105,    253  f, 

359,  489  f,  492-494,  59°>  603 
After-Dinner  Speeches,  153 
Agriculture,  259  f,  265  f,  272,  276 
Alaska,  23,  112,  204 
Ambassadors,  64,  187 
Americanism,  5  f,  54,  141  f,  164,  2OI  f, 

278  f,  458  f,  459-461 
Ancestry,  598-600 
Anglo-Saxons,  102  f,  163,  302 
Architecture,  484-490 
Aristocratic  Tendencies,  8  f,  78,  175, 

199,  418,  500,  531,  534  f,  545,  590- 

611 

Army,  64,  186,  206  f,  226 
Art,  158,  350,  473-495 
Average  Opinion,  8,  26,  54,  557,  604 

B 

BAPTISTS,  499,  508,  512 
Budget,  91  f 
Bureaucracy,  257  f 

Business   Crises,  268-71,  273-5,  2^2  f» 
286  f 

c 

CABINET,  27,  65  f,  80,  91,  144, 156 

Canada,  16  f,  166,  211-216 

Capital,  44,  48,   145,  271  f,  275,  287, 

303  f,  3°7,  335,  342 
Capitol,  85,  101,  482,  486 
Carnegie  Institute,  432  f 
Catholics,  15,  17,  50  f,  155,  499,  507-9, 

513  f 


Chautauqua,  382-4,  391 

Chicago  University,  234,  385,  420  f 

Children,  28  f,  556 

Chinese,  165,  331 

Christian  Science,  519  f 

Church,  155,  354,  360  f,  380,  496-527 

Cities,  115-136,  347  f 

Civil  Disturbances :  see  also  Strikes,  64 

Civil-Service  Reform,  43,  59  f,  188  f 

Civil  War,  42,  44  f,  169,  174,  280 

Clark  University,  419 

Clubs,  153 

Co-Education,  374  f,  417,  423,  560-4 

College,  366,  396  f  401-8,  421  f,  564-6, 

586  f,  600-2 

Columbia  University,  198,  234,  418,  436 
Commerce,    207  f,    214  f,    224,    261-4, 

271  f,  293  f,  296,  298  f,  347 
Committee  System,  90,  92  f,  128 
Common  Law,  102-4,  4I3>  55 1  f 
Competition,  246,  249  f,  302  f,  306,  337, 

340,  342 

Congregationalists,  509  f 
Congress,  21,  35,  38,  45,  57  f,  64,  85- 

100,  106,  no,  112,  161,  193,  313  f 
Constitution,  n,  21  f,  35,  46,  63,  65  f, 

io6f,  113,  117, 176,  203,497 
Consuls,  81,  1 86,  255 
Contract  Labour,  161  f 
Cornell  University,  419  f 
Corruption,  29  f,  40,  44,  51,  57  f,  61  f, 

98  f,  124,  128,  130-3,  135  f,  152,  163, 

176,  186,  191  f,  194  f,  288,  311,  376 
Crime,  32,  162  f,  179  f,  522  f,  551  f 
Cuba,  205  f,  209,  221 
Culture,  348  f,  354  f,  586-9,  600-2 


6i6 


THE  AMERICANS 


D 


DECLARATION  of  Independence,  4,  19, 

78,  210,  221 
Democracy,  7  f,  57,  79,  116, 137  f,  218  f, 

221,  240,  321,  359,  368,  531-6,  538  f, 

591,  609 f 
Democratic    Party,  40  f,  46,   48  f,   99, 

127,  197,  282,  285,  288  f,  292-5,  297  f, 

300 
Department  of  Commerce  and  Labour, 

185,  316 

Dilettanteism,  26,  557,  588,  602-4 
Divorce,  122,  523,  575  f 
Dower,  231 
Drama,  471  f,  474-6 


E 


ECONOMIC  Rise,  255-277 

Education:  see  also  Schools,  etc.,  170, 

i8of 
Elections,  36  f,  39,  62  f,  67,  70  f,  138, 

464 

Electors,  39,  67  f 

Emancipation  of  Woman,  570  f,  574-89 
Employers,  322,  325  f,  332  f,  335, 337  f, 

341  f 
England,  12  f,  17-9,  211-4,  258,  263^ 

272,  290,  457,  459  f>  465,  485  f,  536  f 
Episcopalians,  510  f 
Executive:  see  also  Presidency,  90,  IIO, 

156,  188,  193 
Expansion :  see  also  Imperialism,  201  f, 

204-16,  223 


FEDERATION,  14,  20,  290 
Foreign  Affairs,  64,  201-26 
Free  Trade,  42  f,  48 


GAMBLING,  232  f 
German-Americans,  51,  199 


Germany,  7,  10  f,  37,  60,  103  f,  107, 115, 
132,  141,  189  f,  258  f,  263  f,  281,  308, 

3'9  £  35 r>  379,  394-7*  4*3  (>  47®,  5°4, 

55°f>577f»6ii 
Gold  Democrats,  43,  285  f 
Government  Bureaus,  429  f,  445  f,  450  f 
Governors,  35,  118 

H 

HAGUE,  THE,  Tribunal,  202,  209 
Harvard  University,  231  f,  234,  349  f, 

353, 408-11, 413-7, 436, 450, 466, 510, 

520  f,  600 
House  of  Representatives,  21,  65,  67, 

85  f,  89,  92 
Humour,  142  f,  148,  469,  543  f 


IDEALISM,  236  f,  253-5,  352  £  6n 
Illiteracy,  162,  181  f 
Immigrants,  5  f,  24,  133,  164,  321,  587 
Immigration,  23,  158-61,  185 
Imperialism  :  see  also  Expansion,  42  f, 

53,  605,  607-9 
Income  Tax,  36,  48,  ill  f 
Indians,  16,  165-7 
Individualism,  3  f,  20,  22,  26,  31  f,  43  f, 

104,  123,  197,  229,  239  f,  322  f,  333, 

354  f,   357.   495.   5^   540  f,   546  f, 

604  f,  609-1 1 
Industry,  229,  238,  243  f,  251,  255  f, 

260-7,  272-7,  286,  295  f,  310,  321  f 
Integrity:    see  also  Honesty,  28  f,  44, 

51,  76,  181,  230,  238,  245  f,  308,  521  f, 

525»  549 
Internal  Politics,  185-200 

Inventions,  244  f,  248  f,  265  f,  394 
Irrigation,  157,  608 


JEWS,  514 

Johns   Hopkins   University,   234,   417, 

419,  436 
Judiciary,  21,  34  f,  83,  101-14,  134 


INDEX 


KINDERGARTEN,  379,  381 f 
Knights  of  Labour,  326-9 
Know-Nothings,  161 


LABOUR,   145,   157,  164,   170  f,  294  f, 

318-343,  609 
Lawyers,  104,  424,  605 
Lectures,  153,  382,  385-92 
Legislative,  34  f,  86,  90 
Leisure,  242  f,  550 
Leland  Stanford  University,  420  f 
Libraries,  124,  362  f,  449-56 
Literature,  350,  438-42,  449-7* 
Lobbies,  98 


Local  Representation,  38  f,  52,  94,  99  f,      Patents,  107 


Negroes,  21  f,  32,  44,  50,  87,  167  f,  512 
New  Mexico,  23 

Newspapers,  30,  146-51,  196-9,  461  f, 
525 

o 

OPTIMISM,  234,  247,  501 

Oregon,  23 

Organization,  33,  92,  190,  322  f,  539 


PAINTING,  480-483 

Panama  Canal,  209  f,  211,  221,  608 

Parties,  31,  35-62,  70,  92,  99,  113,  132  f, 

i35»  r38  f>  H8,  151  f>  *54,  191  f>  '95. 
213 


128  f,  131  f 
Lotteries,  231 

Louisiana,  23,  102,  204,  208 
Lutherans,  512  f 
Luxury  :     see    also    Millionaires,  235, 

252  f,  348,  537  f,  57i  f,  592 
Lynch  Law,  32, 


M 

MAGAZINES,  152  f,  437,  455  f,  462  f,  502 
Marriage,  504,  516,  523,  575-7,  578-83 
Materialism,  230-3,  236  f 
Mayors,  35,  120,  133 
Mennonites,  16,  499,  513 
Methodists,  501,  508,  511  f 
Mexico,  23,  112,  1  66,  204,  219 
Millionaires  :  see  also  Philanthropy,  57, 

89,  158,  233  f,  239,  323,  538,  591-3 
Monroe  Doctrine,  159,  207,  216-26 
Mormons,  156,  515  f 
Museums,  431,433,491  f 
Music,  476-480 
Mysticism,  360,  517-9,  587 

N 

NATURAL  Resources,  255  f,  260 

Navy,  64,  1  86 


Peace:    see  also  The  Hague  Tribunal, 

101,  201-3,  208  f,  226 
Pensions,  84 
Philanthropy,    124,    173,    233  f,    271, 

418  f,  423,  448,  476  f,  506,  526,  547-9, 

597  f 

Philippines,  43,  47,  204-10 
Philosophy,  436  f,  468 
Police,  122 
Politicians,  37,  55,  58  f,  70,  191,  195, 

606 

Population,  155-84 
Porto  Rico,  112 
Post  Office,  187,  190,  194  f 
Presbyterians,  511 
Presidency,  35  f,  39,  63-84,   113,   145, 

189,  607 
President  Cleveland,  36,  41  f,  61,  63, 

65,  80  f,  285  f,  292  f 
President    Eliot,    of    Harvard,    410  f, 

520  f 

President  Jackson,  63,  192 
President  Jefferson,  19,  47  f,  63,  219, 

498 
President  McKinley,  36,  41  f,  53,  63, 

65  f>  7°  f>  73  f>  77.  80  f,  203  f,  214, 

270,  293-6,  299  f,  594 
President  Lincoln,  46  f,  63,  65  f 


6i8 


THE  AMERICANS 


President  Roosevelt,  42,  62,  65  f,  73  f, 

178  f,  185  f,  193,  202,  300,  302,  312  f, 

315  f,  326,  336,  384,  594 
President  Washington,  12,  21,  63,  67, 

ill,  218,  432 
Prices,  319  f 
Protection,  42,  48,  197,  214,  255,  267, 

289-301,  31  if 
Public  Opinion,  29,  137-54,  158,  190, 

198,  500 
Puritans,  14,  50,  352-9,  364,  473,  483, 

498,  5°5>  5°9»  522 
Psychology,  378  f,  437  f 

Q 

QUAKERS,  15,  513,  516  f 

R 

RACE  Suicide,  581-83 
Railroads,  247,  256  f,  272-4,  303,  490 
Reciprocity,  2141",  299 
Reform,  74,  148,  198-200,  348,  350,  609 
Religion:   see  also  Church,  496-527 
Republican  Party,  40  f,  44  f,  49  f,  196  f, 
288  f,  294,  296  f,  312  f 


SCHOOLS,  163  f,  361  f,  365-92, 493, 506  f, 

584,  58? 

Science,  158,  393,  412,  425-48 
Scientific  Societies,  433-6 
Sculpture,  483  f 
Secretary  Hay,  82,  223 
Secretary  of  State,  8 1  f 
Self-Assertion,  531-57,  570  f,  574  f 
Self-Direction,  3-34,  38  f,  125  f,  164  f, 

239,  499 
Self-Initiative,  229-54,  255  f,  306,  374, 

459»  596  f 

Self-Perfection,  347-64,  392,  520  f 
Senate,  21,  64,  85-8,  90,  95-8,  190,  193 
Servants,  540  f,  568 
Silver  Question,  42  f,  49,  157,  279-89 


Slavery,  14,  21,  42-5,  168  f,  213 

Slums,  158 

Smithsonian  Institution,  430  f 

Socialism,  156  f,  324,  538 

Society,   235,   241,   504,   533-5,   539^ 

591-3,  595 
South:    see   also   Slavery,    116,    168  f, 

I72f,  I76f,  276  f,  470  f 
Spanish  War,  74  f,  203,  205  f,  208,  213, 

270 

Speaker  of  the  House,  73,  93 
Spoils  System,  40,  42,  59  f 
Sport,  8,  55,  250,  493,  542  f,  565,  592 
State  Courts,  106  f,  108 
State  Legislatures,  38,  106,  118  f 
State  Rights,  20-2,  38,  115-8,  290,  314 
State  Universities,  400  f,  419,  564 
Strikes,  325  f,  330  f,  333-9 
Suffrage,  87,  158,  I75  f,  183  f 
Supreme   Court,   35  f,  45,   64  f,    101  f, 

109  f,  Il2f,  315  f 


TAMMANY,  198 

Tariff:   see  also  Protection,  U2f,  214, 

290  f 

Taxation,  32,  48,  m  f,  157,  369 
Temperance,  198-200,  242,  523  f 
Theatres,  124,  149  f,  473-6,  524 
Thirteen  Colonies,  18  f 
Towns,  1 20  f,  125 
Trades-Unions,  325,  327-34,  343 
Treasury,  82  f,  92,  281-5 
Treaties,  64,  97 

Trials:  see  also  Lynch  Law,  108,  551  f 
Trusts,  43,  229,  249,  270  f,  275  f,  301-18 


u 


UNIFORMITY,  117,  258,  553-5,  592,  596 
Unitarians,  351,  411,  506,  510 
Universities,  366  f,  393-424,  585 
University  of  Michigan,  421 
Utilitarianism,  355-9,  364 


VENEZUELA,  203,  219  f 
Veto,  64  f,  90 
Vice-Presidency,  72  f,  96 
Virginia,  13  f,  121,  352,  365,  511 

w 


INDEX 


619 


White  House,  77 

Woman,  144  f,  375,  386,  422,  558-89 
Woman's  Suffrage,  87,  158,  572-5 
Women's  Colleges,  416  f,  422-4,  564-6 
Women  Wage-Earners,  566-70,  580 
World  Powers,  78  f,  223,  351  f,  494 


WASTE,  250,  266,  268,  379 


YALE  University,  234,  353,  417  f 


3  011204779^'^ 


